


as storm grey met cerulean blue

by imnotaegon



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Season 7/8, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Battle of the Bastards, Cousin Incest, Dark Jonsa, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fix-It, Half-Sibling Incest, Jealousy, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POVs start in Chapter 2, Smut, Some Fluff, but not really, first chapter prologue
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-13
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:06:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 25,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23628145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imnotaegon/pseuds/imnotaegon
Summary: “The eye contact that they made after jumping apart, unlocked the raw understanding. That this was a problem. Something that could be vile, dark, and overall consuming, but neither of them had the strength nor the will to stop it. Neither wanted it to stop. As storm grey met cerulean blue, they decided that they wouldn’t stop.”A million different paths, a million different decisions. What will change when the path is paved differently and people hold true to who they actually are.(Ongoing Revisions)
Relationships: Jon Snow/Sansa Stark
Comments: 30
Kudos: 129





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I’m writing my first multi part series that is putting my own spin on how it goes. My interpretation on how things should go, will be dramatic like in this prologue but at other points it will follow similar to the show. Please give me suggestions on what you might like to see and tell me how I can improve.

“Yes, just like that…” came out as a moan from Sansa lips. She was exposed, with her bodice half undone, her stocking ripped to shreds on the floor, and her skirt pulled all the way up to her waist. “GODS,” was all she could manage next when she took in Jon’s entire shaft as he picked her up from what used to be Lord Eddard’s writing desk, where they were going over everything. He tightly held on to her and began to pound into her against the wall to the lord's chamber. His strokes were slow but simultaneously powerful. He filled her so perfectly and made her feel warmer than the hottest days of Summer. Her legs wrapped around his firm body so she could pull him into her. She was hoping to help him quicken his searingly slow strokes. She could not tell what was happening inside her but the feeling was so euphoric that she began to feel numb in her toes. 

Although Sansa would voice her pleasure, Jon rarely spoke when he was being this animalistic. He grunted and groaned with her, nodding at every suggestion she made. If he had a suggestion he just did it and he found that Sansa didn’t much mind, because after all of their couplings he knew her body. He just knew what she would like. Jon knew what would test her and what would excite her.

Jon was never a man of many words but he did make good use of his mouth though. Sucking, licking, biting into Sansa’s fair skin to the point it turned rosy from all of his attention. Her body is all he can focus on and how it meets his. The way she slides up and down his length, taking him in so wonderfully. He stares at where they are joined then looks back up into her eyes. They’re forehead to forehead with each other as they look into the pools of each other’s eyes. It is silent except for the flesh against flesh slapping and the slight whimpers of Sansa.

Her eyes begin to well and her cunt begins to grip him harder. Sansa was on verge of her second peak of the night. She broke her intoxicating eye contact and leaned her head back onto the wall. One arm already hooked behind his neck for balance, the other snaked up his body as it came up to brush her fingers through sweat dampened curls. But one of Jon’s hands snaked down her body. Right in between them. He rubbed her in the most delicious circles. This motion was always the key to lock in her peak. The euphoria sharpened into a heavenly pleasure that was better than the first peak she had tonight. 

But as soon as she thought it was ending it was extended by Jon enjoying his peak. His member was pouring seed into her. She felt him paint her insides with himself. Sansa felt whole. Jon felt beyond anything. They both remembered the first time they felt this way. The first time he filled her, the first time he fucked her.

…

It started when she told him that if Ramsay won that she wouldn’t go back there alive. This made Jon crack in a new way. He didn’t want to be a part of a future without an anchor. Sansa had told him his plans and strategies would not work. She talked to the fact that there weren't enough men. And then she admitted what he had been afraid of most, they were going to be the last Starks. That Rickon would not survive either way the battle went. Now she talked about her never being in the clutches of Ramsay Bolton again, insinuating that she would take her own life. Jon could not even imagine it all. He wanted and tried to comfort her. But it all blew up in his face and his mind kept repeating her words. No one can protect me, no one can protect anyone. 

When she left the tent that night he found the witch that made his existence possible, Melisandre, and demanded not to be brought back himself. Sansa wasn’t going to live in this life any longer and Jon didn’t want to come back to it. Very different ways to think about it all but with one similar premise: death. They’d rather taste death than have to live in certain possibilities. She didn’t want to have to ever go back to the past and he was so bloody scared of the future. The present offered so many different paths for both Snow and Stark.

At Castle Black when they saw each other it clicked something in both of them. Sansa looking up to and then running into his arms, saw a piece of her past. The past where she wasn’t in pain or torment. The sweet and innocent part of her past that could actually help her unlock her future. She could be safe with this part of her past.

Jon felt something different. He was dead. He died in this very courtyard she was standing in. Knives plunged into his chest by the ones who claimed to be his brothers. Now he was alive. He knew what death looked like and his heart beat again. Was he alive for a reason that he would have to come to see. That scared him more than death. The future was his new foe, dead men were walking but so was he. Though when he heard them call for the opening of the gates and he came out to see her. This person who was from when times were simpler. She reminded him of his past and who he was. He was Jon Snow. And he was alive and not some walking blue eyed monster. Sansa reminded him of his life and not to be worried about the future for he now had a piece of his past. He had someone that could help him down this new path. 

Maybe that’s what brought them together. They would never be whole again because of what the world did to them. The abuse is sometimes too much for people. It didn’t start at Castle Black. That was a place of reunion. Sansa stirred something inside Jon, enough to actually care about the world again. She forced him to become a man of action again. 

They both made each have this affection, this drive to push each other. Sansa couldn’t stop thinking about him. What had happened to the brother I once knew. This man has forgiven me of my past now that I can ask no others. But this man wasn’t exactly the Jon Snow from the past, he had evolved into something greater. He looked stronger, but wary. He did not feel like a brother in the very way Robb did. But maybe that was her fault from their tattered relationship as children. He was close in a way she found indescribable. He made her feel things that she learned a lady does not voice. He was attractive but more than that. He would become cross with her but never vile. He could brood and then find a smile that would burn a holes in her cheeks from blushing too hard. Jon had made himself to be more. He was an assertive and enjoyable leader who could never be seen as the bastard of Winterfell.

And as Sansa thought of him, Jon couldn’t stop worrying about her. She felt so weak in his arms when he held her the day she was standing in the Castle Black courtyard. Ramsay’s letter shed light on the man Sansa had to survive. The threat he made against the Freefolk, their brother, and her was just too much. If his actions were half as horrid as his threats he couldn’t imagine what had happened to her in Winterfell. Jon tore apart his chamber the night he agreed to help Sansa. He let her live in such vileness, when he was at a distance to save her. This wasn’t Joffrey in a far away castle. This wasn’t happening in Kingslanding, it was right here, in the North. This woman had grown a confidence and an intelligence that would more than rival anyone he had ever met. But she gained this allure from abuse, not the fact that she was abused, but the strength it gave her. Or maybe she always had that strength and it was buried inside. Her pulchritude wasn’t just from her delicate features that had grown with her nicely over the years they spent apart. But she was humbled and self-possessed in a way he could never remember Sansa.

Jon would help Sansa fight and then together they could fight off what was to come for them all. She was right, they needed a stable front, they needed their home, they needed Winterfell. But he was right, they couldn’t just tell the Bolton’s to pack up and leave. They needed to rally forces. 

Tormund assured them they had the Freefolk, but who else. Neither of them had the claim or truly even a right to call former Stark bannermen. What were they to the North? A bastard and disgraced lady? Ned Stark’s shame, who held high office and was killed for it, and daughter, who was once a Lannister, now a Bolton? They tried for the days to make the Northern Lords to espouse their cause. They may not be Lord Eddard or King Robb but they proved House Stark lived. Even with their speeches they barely obtained less than hundred men from Lyanna Mormont. With Mormont though they got a couple hundred men from the houses of Mazin and Hornwood. Yet these houses’ strength and size would not compare to the three houses that had thousands of men sworn to them, that Sansa and Jon found themselves up against. 

So when Jon found himself with that witch she told him that she would try to bring him back for she was not his but the Lord of Light’s servant. The Red Witch told him that he was in the Lord’s plan and that scared him more than it did when he woke up. Be brought back just to die.

“What kind of god does that?,” he asked as he stared into the witch’s fire and back to her.

With little hesitation she looked at him in a blank stair and said, “The only one we’ve got.”

He found that to be bullshit. The old gods did not seem to delight in the suffering of men and did not play such cruel tricks. He walked out of the tent to find Sansa. He didn’t just see the bullshit in his entire conversation with Melisandre, he also saw it beneath Sansa’s “no one can protect me” statement. Gods and Sansa be damned. He is alive right now after being stabbed in the chest, so why not choose what you make out of that. He was going to find Sansa.

But while Jon was talking to the Red Woman, Sansa had walked from the tent into the forest. She didn’t walk far enough so she could see the tent she walked out of. She just needed sharp Northern air. The one benefit of being traded to the North was the air. It wasn’t thick with stench like it was in the South and it actually cooled you. Her face was flushed and needed to be cooled down after her conversation with Jon. 

He made her so mad she could scream. He was trying and she wanted to be thankful for that but she couldn’t have this fail. She wanted to be of real help. She opened her mouth and her lungs up but she couldn’t scream. Too many men were in the camp preparing for a battle. She needs to also make preparations. She has plans for tomorrow. She takes one last breath in, having the air hit her lungs. A feeling of pins and needles takes over. Sansa then slowly tapered off to her own tent. She entered through a flap in the side and took off her fur. Her shoulders felt as though she was carrying too much and her feet ached from the extreme wear that she put on them carrying herself in cold, wet shoes. 

The tent is not big but it isn’t as though she ever had many belongings to fill it with. There was a makeshift bed, a stool, and all of her personal items fit inside a small trunk. She has run from two marriages, two castles with nothing but the clothes on her back. One day she hoped she could find something that she could actually hold on to. After she had met with Lord Baelish in Molestown, she collected a few items and that’s all she had with her now. That’s where she got to make Jon’s beautiful fur and her new dress, along with leaves of a tea she needed, and a salve. Her wounds were all in the process of healing and she thought she could help some of the physical ones by wearing this salve. Not all the wounds that marked her body had successfully formed into scars yet.

Ramsay did not let his presence go unknown for even one night. He haunted her. He cut “R”s into her and traced veins with the tip of his knife. He knew how to make her start and stop bleeding with such ease. He violated her in ways she didn't know were possible. She wanted nothing more to get the feeling of him being out and off of her body. To have the pain go away. Ramsay either needed to suffer a painful defeat that the gods would find cruel or Sansa wasn’t going to live for one more touch of his hands. 

As Sansa had her hands on her outer bodice and was about to start to unlace herself as she heard the flap of her tent go up. Before she could fully turn around, she heard his thunderous voice.

“I will protect you, I am here to protect you. I am here to protect you,” was Jon’s big statement. He didn’t prepare a speech, though at this moment he wished he did. But he continued on, “I died Sansa. Bled out in the snow.” With so little candles in the room he had to move to be about an arms distance away from her. Her eyes were so sad, not as though she had just been crying but as if she had been crying for years and finally gave up on it. He straightened up this and hushed his tone so it was one of a normal conversation. “But now I stand before you, even when that should be impossible. I thought about how much more Robb or Father could help you and if anyone should be brought back it should’ve...”

However before he finished the statement Sansa would cut him off, “Do not think that. You are back Jon. And Father couldn’t save me and neither could Robb.” She turned to pull out some more of her candles. She turned and started lighting new ones. Sansa couldn’t look into his sad eyes. Dilated pupils and heavy breathing were matching her own.

“Sansa, my point about me being back is not that I wish Robb or Father were back, even though I do. My point is that there has to be a reason for my return. I do not know what it is though but…” he halted so that Sansa would stop lighting candles and look up at him. With his silence she did realize and turned around to face him. Her eyes were still so piercing in the dim light as she looked through long lashes. “The reason could be to die in this battle tomorrow or to die in my bed on my eightieth and fifth namesday. Maybe it is to be part of the fight against the Long Night or that I drink wine in Dorne.” She smirked at this, rolling her eyes. He smiled at her reaction, but then he was serious again as he continued, “But I realized whatever the reason I don’t care. I don’t want to be held to what some god destined me for. I decided on what my purpose is.”

“What is it then? What do you want it to be Jon?” He didn’t exactly know why she was asking these questions, especially in a tone that was almost threatening, untill she said, “I thought I knew what I was destined for. I thought I knew what I wanted and what I deserved. And I was poorly mistaken.”

“Sansa...I have said my reason. To protect you. I came back and suddenly...somehow you were there, you...came at a point when I was entirely lost, and you gave me purpose.” This made them both tense. They both tried looking anywhere in the tent but at each other. They both decided to look at their feet. Jon decided to keep talking though, “It might have been happenstance that you arrived right before I was going to do something rash. But right now, I am going to perceive the reason I’m here, is you. I am here to help you...protect you.” With these words they had to look at each other. Their hearts would be encroached and they would stare into each other’s eyes. They found that they were lost. “I will do everything in my power to protect you, and to even seek justice for you. Tomorrow is the fight for Winterfell which you led me to, Sansa.”

“You could die in that fight,” she told him. “Is that what you want? To die again?” Her face had grown concerned. Her biggest fear was that she would be alone again. That’s why she was sure that if they lost she would not survive long.

“You knew all along that my death was a possibility but what I want is to bring my family home. Keep them safe from whomever tries to harm them. I find that a good enough reason to live.” He stepped closer to her, slightly leaning his head to the side to look at her with reverence. She didn’t think he was close enough to her. “This includes more than just Ramsay, Cersei, and the Long Night, because Sansa you are my family.”

She didn’t know what to say to that really. All of his words were something she expected of a prince or a dashing knight. But the problem was she didn’t feel like he was her family in the exact way he was describing. At least not in that tent. When she was younger she wanted to distance herself from him. She called him half brother for a reason. She wanted to distance herself from him. Now this feeling was different. Now Sansa wanted Jon closer than she wanted anyone else. He felt like more than her brother. His promises caused new feelings to boil over inside her.

Feelings were pooling into thick heat not only in her head and heart but in her cunt. “Do you actually think we could actually be a family after tonight?”

His eyes shot wide and bodily hairs stood up straight. Her scent was making him feverish. Her eyes were making him dizzy. This entire conversation had made him nervous and blustered. Sansa made him nervous and blustered. But still, with his head in this state, he knew exactly what she meant by the question. Do you think we will be able to be a family after we fuck on the floor of this tent? Jon kept pounding in the world family because Sansa was supposed to be his family along with Rickon. But Rickon was his brother. Sansa was the heady goddess that stood before him. Making him scared and excited. He kept using the word family to make sure he would not pounce on her. He used the word family because if they were family what would stop them from fucking on the floor of this very tent. But if they were going to die tomorrow why would he think that the word “family” would even stop them. He should be the responsible older brother but he responds with, “But who knows if we die tomorrow.” Jon’s promises and reasons, Sansa’s plans and hopes. Even though they were supposed to be brother and sister, they felt an even deeper connection. One that freed them from any constraint and all of a sudden there was no overwhelming space between them. Sansa thought of it all like the Northern air, the thickness that was there went away as their mouths interlocked. The obstacle that both of them kept pretending was there subsided. This happened and their whole beings interlocked. Her hands on his face and his on her hips held them close as they sealed all this built up fate with passion’s kiss.

Then their hands dropped away from each other and they disconnected their lips then bodies with shock. They both were disgusted with themselves, they were definitely still brother and sister were they not? She had leaned on him asking him to do the brotherly duty of protecting her. And he took the coat she, his sister, made. And they had talked about the man they both called father, and the boys they both called brothers. Sansa and Jon had tried to show each other their best sides as they had nightly conversations about events that had happened since they parted. They thought they were creating the foundation of the sibling relationship they never seemed to have. While they prepared for this battle, she kept secrets and he made plans without her advice, they still thought they’d try to make themselves brother and sister. 

But with that kiss, Jon and Sansa saw behind their own rouse. They had been dancing around the fact that they weren’t growing as siblings. They had spent so long without the love of family that they did not know what they had created. They still were truly disgusted but they came to the realization that they could never be what they were to the rest of their siblings. If she was right, if they couldn’t get Rickon back. Then they were doomed to be the last of the great house Stark or maybe they would die tomorrow as well.

They were out of breath from that blinding kiss, but the kiss was just the realization. The eye contact that they had been making all night, unlocked the raw understanding. That this was a problem. Something that could be vile, dark, and just overall consuming, but neither of them had the strength nor the will to stop it. Neither wanted it to stop. As storm grey met cerulean blue, they decided that they wouldn’t stop.

Their lips touched more innocently this time, but eventually grew more rigorous. Their hands needed to touch the other. Sansa moved her hands from his face and wrapped her arms around the back of his neck. They crossed there, bringing him closer into her. It wasn’t enough though, she couldn’t care that she could not breathe. She had realized the real air she needed was right here. Jon moves his hands too. Curving around her hips to reach the small of her back.

They didn’t need to ask what the other found acceptable, because it all just felt right. As though they could never be close enough. But suddenly the connection broke again to Sansa’s surprise, she slowly opened her eyes right as Jon placed a peck right below her earlobe. He pebbled open mouth kisses all down her neck, placing Sansa in a state. She enjoyed his attention and the tickling of his beard on her sensitive skin, but stopped it to make the boldest move of the night. She unhooked her arms from his neck and moved enough away that she could undo the outside ties of her dress. And Jon finally had the chance to take off the fur she had made him.

When Jon looked up he could see her arms were now free and the tops of her breasts were exposed for only her corset covered her upper body. Jon was fully animated by this but he also saw for the first time the slashes, the bruises, and the cuts that marked this part of her body. How her pale skin was spotted in pink and red, black and blue. Her face turned away from him, but he would not allow her to be ashamed. Jon slowly divulged himself of his leather cuirass. He could now move with more freedom, enough to reassure her that he would take off his boiled leather armor but she need not take off all her armor yet.

Jon placed his hand on her turned cheek, gently making her look back at him. “Trust me,” was all he said. He placed another kiss on her lip. Then another and another until they were in the full swing of things again. But this time Jon’s hands were not on the small of her back. They were lower under the curve of her bottom.

He breathed her in, smelling her natural scent gave him the desire to pick her up. Holding her up in the air by her bottom which caused her to let out an amatory yelp. Jon walked them over to the pillows and furs that made the makeshift bed in Sansa’s tent. Placing them both down, he moved again from kissing her lips to kissing her neck, collar bone, and her breasts. Sansa enjoyed this primal experience but she still felt the anxiety of the last time she lay like this. A much different man was in Jon’s place. 

She clamped her eyes shut, only wanting to enjoy Jon in this moment. I trust him. I trust him. Then she opened her eyes and said with a heavy breath, “Fuck me, Jon,” loud enough for him to hear. He stopped kissing in the crevice of her neck and looked back into her eyes again. They could never go back. They would forever be affected by this night if they lived past tomorrow. Tomorrow decided the future, a battle where bastard would face bastard. Jon could die again and Sansa would follow soon after. Everything depended on tomorrow but tonight was a night of bliss.

Bliss that caused Jon to pull up Sansa’s skirts all the way up to see her long, stockinged legs. Bliss that caused him to rip the stocking and the small clothes that hid underneath. But one of the most blissful moments of the night was when Jon spread her legs apart and swiped his tongue across her folds. He swiped his tongue back and forth across her cunt causing Sansa to practically scream in delectation, digging her nails into his scalp. He continued to dive deeper into her as he placed her legs over his shoulders. Jon then started paying attention specifically at her nub, and each time he flattened her tongue over it Sansa would moan with zeal. Jon was satisfying her in an area that she didn’t know ached so badly. She never knew men did this to women but she would not be complaining. And as Jon continued with his work, it all seemed to keep getting better and better as though she was inclining towards something. 

But then it all suddenly went white in Sansa’s eyes. Her back arched off her cushions but Jon kept his genuine focus on her. He drove her through the first real peak of her life. He loved her taste, he loved to see the small movements in her facial muscles he could see from his position, and he loved that he could make her feel good. Maybe they’d both regret it later, but they already concluded it wouldn’t be the last time.

Jon worked on trying to bring her back to the drop off again. Make her feel an explosion in her body again by sucking on her clit and placing a finger inside of her. But Sansa didn’t just want his fingers, she wanted him, all of him inside her. Dead tomorrow or not she was going to have him be the last man she had inside of her. He might be her brother, but she needed him inside of her. Jon would be a man she chose to fuck her, that would make the memory of Ramsay disappear from her body.

She undoubtedly knew that she would remember that man and all the other ones that used her, hurt her. But she was going to relish in this rapture. She was going to feel someone good pump inside of her. Make her feel good. Make her feel so fulfilled that it was practically punishing. Sansa needed Jon to do this for her. He was going to protect her, but felt as though that statement was so much more. She couldn’t have her parents back. She couldn’t have Robb, Arya, or Bran back. They would try to get Rickon but she truly believes he is already dead. Jon was the only person left to her and she wanted him in the most forbidden way. I am asking my brother to give me everything that is left. For my home. For my revenge. For my pleasure.

While moaning from Jon’s great attentiveness, she got up to lean on her elbows. She tried tugging Jon up to meet with her, but he was too busy working away at her cut to notice the erotic pull of his hair. He could taste how sweet she was and was nose deep on trying to help her peak again and again. But he was having similar thoughts to hers. Jon thought about what he was doing but he didn’t care in this moment that he had his tongue in between the folds of her. Shame would soon arrive because of the damn honor his father gave him. Lord Eddard is rolling in his grave now. But even those thoughts could not sway him, the only thing that did was the aggressive taps he got on the shoulder from the woman above him. 

He looked up at her to see her exultant face. Jon knew she wasn’t necessarily happy but that she was in euphoria with him. Sansa had an urgency to her. He uncurled his hands from around her thighs so that she could take them off his shoulders. He kissed her cunt a few more times till he placed his hands on either side of her to meet her face. Jon places his forehead on her for a second until he kisses her on the lips. He gave her a taste of herself, the sweet taste of her passed from his lips to hers. The particular tang surprised and excited her enough to immediately go for the ties of his breeches. 

She fumbled along with the laces but eventually worked through them as Jon was on top of her kissing her in jubilance. Loosened enough, she put her hand inside his breeches and small clothes and felt his magnificently sized manhood. It was growing within her hand as she circled her fingers around it. Her wrapped fingers moved up and down the shaft a couple times, which caused Jon to heartly groan. Sansa smiles up at him. This time his eyes were closed due to pleasure. Sansa put her other hand up to his face to have him look at her. Within this intense stare nothing was said but they communicated their trust, their hope, their sins.

They said nothing as Jon balanced one handed as he pulled down his trousers and small clothes a bit. Enough for him to have full use of his member. Using one hand to line himself up to her folds. The only thing that Sansa did was nod. She was ready for him, but not as ready as she found herself when they both gasped as he put himself in. He did not forcibly but slowly eased them both into it. 

She was tight and he was firm and this gave them the most pleasurable experience that had yet to enjoy in life. Jon set the pace but Sansa followed it as she wrapped her legs in a vice grip around his firm arse. He slowly went in and out not pushing into her all the way. He was fully aware that she had another man go too harsh too quick. The pace was melodic and slow which drove them into madness. They never stopped staring into each other as it all began to quicken. They knew where it was all headed. As he pushed in completely, to be fully enveloped by her, she gasped for hair. Sansa gripped him with her nails digging relentlessly into his muscular back. Jon was taunt with the purpose of trying not to spend himself within the first minute of being inside this gorgeous woman. 

His brow furrowed as he could not take this leisurely slow pace and speed up his thrusts. Sansa did not object but encouraged him with her continual cries of gratification. He kissed her firmly and aggressively to make sure she did not drift off. They were there together intoxicated by this feeling as the powerful plunges he made into her. Two people, partially dressed, in the throes of passion. The tent sounding of slick flesh slapping and guttural moaning. Not since they left Winterfell, all those years ago, did they feel as though they belonged as much as they did in this moment. 

They were brother and sister. Bastard and fallen lady. Jon and Sansa. Nobody wanted them, the Northerners wanted Robb, Father or even Bran and Rickon. Davos wanted Stannis. Brienne wanted Catelyn. The Wildlings wanted Mance. But the world was not in this moment. In their minds Ramsay, Cersei, the Dead, were not there. Jon took his lips off her, so that he could look in her eyes as her body naturally clenched around his member. Sansa shifted into the pleasure, tightening her legs around his hips to help him hit what was inside of her deeper. Her nails dug deeper as well, leaving crescent moons into his back through his shirt. 

She was beautiful to him, her hair was fire and her eyes stupefied him. Her dress and corset prevented him from exploring all of her body, for it was still bunched around ribs and waist. He wanted nothing more than to discover every piece of her. Jon was fascinating to her too. He was a man that was built to perfection, covered in muscle but a lean man who did not rely on strength alone. She wanted to imagine how he could lift her, hold her. Their thoughts were dangerous to any future they hoped to have inside the walls of Winterfell. Would it all be better if this truly was there last night of knowing one another? The last of the Starks would finally die and the pain that they had amassed over the years would just melt off their corpses. 

The rhythm of the thrusts and the intense eye contact was hypnotic to them. Their thoughts made it so much more bewildering. They were lost to the word. But every once and awhile Jon’s mind would flash back to the thought of pulling out of her soft cunt. It was holding him so well but he could not spill in this forbidden place. He already should be shunned for being balls deep but the thought of him disgracing her that much would destroy him. She will not have her brother’s bastard. Yet with each squelch their bodies made, he began to forget what he must do. Her whimpers were making it so hard and she moved one arm to wrap around his neck. 

So when it came to the apex of what Jon’s stamina would allow, he started to pull out of her. But he was stopped and pushed back into her, because he did realize Sansa was actually trying to grip on to him harder. Her legs were tighter than ever before around him and she kept their hips connected. Her arm around his neck and the power of his release made him practically collapse on top of her. Sansa wanted him to spend inside of her. She made it impossible for him to leave her. So he didn’t. Jon thrusted through, leaving ropes upon ropes of seed inside her. Sansa felt the sure pressure of it all and fell over the edge with Jon. Falling into a pit that she could not describe as anything besides the seventh heaven. 

Jon tried to move from her grip, but it was no use. She positioned it all to be this way. Jon grunted, “Sansa,” in protest of it all.

Sansa said, “Jon,” to him but she did it breathier, in a tone that really meant no. No, she wasn’t going to let him pull out of this at the last second. And as they passed through their simultaneous release Jon gave in, putting his forehead on hers. Even though they were still wearing most of their clothes they never felt so connected to another person before. They felt so dazed by the experience, sleep began making their eyes so unbelievably heavy. They slept without another word. The last feeling Sansa remembered was the utter loss of him slipping out of her. 

Sansa believed that’s what woke her. Not the breaking of dawn, not the bumbling of the camp but the fact she felt so empty without him in between her legs. When she opened her eyes, Jon was gone. Nothing to even suggest he had laid with her in this tent. Nothing but her ripped stockings and that a blanket was pulled up over her. He’s gone. It all settled in, he was here and now he’s gone. But what if he never comes back? She wanted him again already, she wanted him to come back. She wanted nothing but to have them both feel whole again. Sansa had only one idea that would ensure that she got Winterfell, the North, and Jon back. I must find Littlefinger.


	2. Incendiary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa - The other perspective of Battle of the Bastards.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for taking so long to make this second part. Busy with a lot of stuff and I tried to make it perfect but it never quite got there so bare with me. My interpretation on how things should go, will be dramatic some points but at other points it will follow similar to the show.

“I wish you would leave your hair down more.” Sansa started running her fingers through the long curls that ran from the scalp of Jon’s head to his shoulders. The raven color contrasted with her fingers and her fair skinned breasts that he laid his head on. They had quite a night of pleasure. Now they were dazed and dozing, naked upon the biggest bed in Winterfell. The furs lazily covered them because they were mainly heated by each other. “They are something that many women would envy,” twirling a large strand of his hair on her finger. She kept wrapping her finger in the raven lock, but then she gave a playful yank. “Plus, they give me something to hold onto when you put your head in between my legs.”

He snorted at this while she let out a giggle. They were two people that usually had so little to smile about. But they were in Winterfell and warm. Not just warmed by hearth and home but by the warmth of each other. Jon opened his eyes to rub the sleep from them. He picks his head up off her so he could shift his body to see that she wasn’t just smiling with her mouth but with her eyes. She was happy that he was here with her. Chin resting right below her breasts, his body laid out beside hers. They are partially stuck together with sweat and seed made from their exertion. She was somewhat propped up on pillows with her hair spread out. And even after her smile began to fade she looked quite blissful as she kept running her fingers through his hair. 

“I just wanna stay here.” Her eyes began to drift and look around the room. It was mostly hidden in darkness but her eyes wandered. Sansa wasn’t looking at anything in particular just staring into what used to be her parents room. Probably reliving and forgetting old and new memories. She then focused her eyes back on him, “Never get out of this bed.” Jon could feel the ache resonating in Sansa’s voice. He wished to never have to leave her. Her soft skin against his rough. Her knack from going to animalistic to innocent lady made Jon almost shiver. But her eyes most of all.

He leaned in and kissed under her rose tipped breast in response. Then he moved and kissed her under the other one. In mere minutes he would have to leave. Leave this body, this woman. Jon moved to kiss the top of her belly, planting open mouthed kisses all along her front. Sansa’s skin was softer than anything his callous hands had ever touched, then his bearded mouth had ever kissed. Her skin allowed for a path of his kisses. And as he got lower and lower on her vivacious figure, she moaned. He stopped as he came to where the furs obstructed his path and pulled them off her. He didn’t want to leave without going with one last taste. 

Jon lifted her leg up and placed it upon his shoulder so his face lined right up with her beautiful cunt. He just kept kissing around her area of pleasure. Kissing the inside of her thighs, but Sansa’s hand was still in his hair and gave him a good pull of attention. This made him look up into her eyes, his storm grey looking into her cerulean blue. This relayed an unspoken conversation that they had many times before. A conversation of trust that leads to the possibility of danger.

Jon doesn’t even break eye contact with her as he flattens his tongue against her folds, making her jolt upright. She is sweetly startled at this start. She sits up almost all the way, leaning back on one of her arms. She never loses grip on his hair, tugging on it to let him know what she liked and didn’t dislike, but she doesn’t dislike much of what he does. Jon sucks and kisses and blows cold air on her hot body. He makes her peak leaving the sweet taste of herself in his tongue. And when Sansa opens her eyes after the fall of her pleasure he’s gone. His warmth, his luscious hair, his beautiful eyes, all gone. She was there, alone, in the bed.

Sansa

She was there, alone, in this makeshift bed. She did not know when Jon left or if he even stayed. She just knew that she had never felt things as she did last night. She never knew that a woman could have such pleasure with a man. Although it wasn’t just the immeasurable pleasure that his body gave hers but something beyond that. She could comprehend sex, she knew it wasn’t supposed to feel like it did with Ramsay. He made her think that she wanted to be an old maid for the rest of her life with all the trauma he left. But that’s what was scary and inconceivable. Last night with Jon’s words and eyes she felt something so deep, so raw that made her need him. She didn’t understand what she felt for him. She didn’t even wake up from the nightmares she’d have of Ramsay. Jon made her feel so safe that she could even forget about what Ramsay had done to her body and just lay with him. For my own brother. 

That thought made her sick. My brother. She was trying to lace herself up again and find new stockings after he ruined the others in her haze. She doubled over gagging. My older brother. Father and Mother are what came to her mind. My half brother. Betrayed them all to Cersei, submitted to Joffrey, married a Lannister in the midst of the war, married the son of the man who killed Robb, and now fucked her other older brother who she had abused with her own arrogance. She kept gagging but stopped. She had to get over herself. She had done it and the most haunting thing to her was that she didn’t regret it. Jon asked for her trust and she gave it to him because he made her feel safe. The emotion between them was too deep and hypnotic. She wanted to get back in that bed and lay next to him.

But he had left without a word. And she needed to go do the same. Dress, stockings, boots, and furs all on as she left the tent. Most of the men were still here but she could not let any of them see her. She circled the perimeter of camp and came to a place with a small hitch of horses already saddled. She was legitimately sorry to take one of them away from the men. She even thought about how one soldier would possibly die from not having a horse but she was going to go ensure their victory. 

She had to believe in saving a thousand men would be better than saving just one.

Sansa thought after all this time in the South she would forget everything. She was scared that the North would become an old forgotten ghost to her. But even though the picture of the land isn’t as clear she knew this land well. Not like Father, Robb, or Arya. Not like Jon. She knew where she needed to be. She didn’t remember every stream or exactly where she was in the forest but she could feel where she was. Riding and guiding a horse during this month-long campaign with Jon after her long period of being pent up. Sansa could maneuver her steed to where she needed to go. She had to reach a certain point on the Kingsroad. There she was going to see if a certain lord’s promise was fulfilled.

She had delayed their mission a month trying to give Littlefinger more time to bring the men he promised her in that shack in Mole’s Town. She could not believe that he would be back by now. This month she tried so hard to gather the North to her and Jon. This month she had drunk so much moon tea that the next day she would wake up feverish. She thought she felt a flutter within her when she reached Castle Black. Scared to death that she would carry that man’s disgusting seed inside her, she almost thought about killing herself. But Ramsay’s letter changed her mind when she sat at the table with everyone else. 

That letter would help her convince Jon, convince herself that they needed to fight. So when she went into Mole’s Town, to visit Baelish, she found a lady who would solve her problems. Asking Brienne to stay above ground, she went into a sweet smelling tincturist’s cellar. She got a salve and bag of moon tea that would last her this entire month. She had been trying to kill whatever it was inside her ever since, but had no luck when it came to emotions.

But as she had rode up to the road emerging from the tree line, she saw that no one had shown up, squashing any of Sansa’s hope. They will all die. Her face scrunched up as she felt tears trying to pierce through her eyes. She didn’t know why she put any faith in Baelish’s promises. Do you not remember the deceiving bastard who brought you to Moat Catlin. Sansa went down the path further and further. She would go all the way to the Gates of the Moon, but as she came up the side of a wide hill to see a large encampment filled with armored men. Just as the ones who were at the camp she just left. 

Her heart nearly skipped a beat. The lords and ladies of the Vale allowed the use of the most prestigious knights in the all the Seven Kingdoms. Littlefinger said they’d do it for Sansa Stark, but she was so mortified and afraid of yet another trick by the man she could not believe her eyes. The force here was enough to almost double their army size. She rushed her horse to find a face of authority. Littlefinger or some lord so that she could the men moving.

Sansa got off her horse and walked on foot in the encampments. The men stared at her as though they had seen a woman in years. Littlefinger was not hard to find as he was exciting in one of the largest tents in no armor. Well he might see his wit as armor enough. She stopped in front of him, shocking him into a face with her surprise. He looked to be wearing the same garb as always. 

He greeted her by saying, “Dear Sansa, two thousand of the most respected knights in all of Westeros, all come to fight for you.” Baelish gestured to all the knights that happened to be moving all around them. “For the cousin of their lord, for the daughter of Eddard and Catelyn Stark.” He tried bringing her in close with hands on her shoulders. He tried to be almost humorous by stating, “I told you people would always fight for you because of that.”

She looked up to see Lord Royce exiting the tent and start to curiously stare at the two from behind Baelish’s back. Littlefinger’s hands and Yohn Royce’s eyes were not what she needed and most certainly not what she wanted. She backed away from the Lord’s touch. “Yes, and I hope to thank my cousin and all his lords and ladies. But for now I just hope that these men are primed for battle.” Baelish didn’t seem pleased with this comment but she rewarded him with a small smile. Then she acknowledged Royce’s presents asking, “When shall these men be ready to move exactly, my lord?” 

The older lord stepped closer, a man who had fought with her father and esteemed knight. Just like much of his men he was in full clad armor, unlike the boiled leathers that Northernmen wore. “We have broken fast and now are ready to move in a matter of minutes, Lady Sansa,” was his answer. “We will move to meet with your force to discuss how we are to meet this Bolton Bastard.” 

This was what Sansa was afraid to have to mention, “I am afraid the battle has already begun, my lords.” She looked to both of them with a small sad grimace. The retort caused both of them to react differently. Lord Royce’s eyes grew wide, as he was shocked, but Littlefinger just looked complatative. She knew the look as information dissolved into his mind. “I am sorry my lords. My brother and I have been let down by many before.” There it was again, brother. She didn’t tell Jon, her brother. He did not mention his exact disdain for the man, but she remembered what he said on the night she told him how she ended up in the North. He would never have trusted a promise from Littlefinger. “We have been rejected by those who claimed to always support my family. Even my own uncle. We did not know if you would be here.” They both seemed to take the information well, pitying her, until she said, “We have moved around too much to ever receive a raven and I was sad to remember that the Vale has rejected the North’s call for help in the recent past.”

These words were either going to make them pity her like men had done all of her life or they were going to be the knife in her back. Men always pitied her though, probably always would, and that’s why she bet on it. Lord Royce seemed to be boiled by the words but calmly stated, “We are here now to fix those wrong doings. The Knights of the Vale are here to join the fight at once.” And with that sentiment he bowed his head as Sansa gave him a faint curtsy. Lord Royce left her and Littlefinger to prepare his troops. 

“Riled him into a frenzy, might have hurt the poor man’s honor,” was what Littlefinger said as they both turned to see Royce gathering his men up and uttering commands. But then Littlefinger turned back to face her and asked her, “Why has the battle actually started, dear Sansa?” He was trying to ask so subtly but Sansa could practically smell his desperation.

“My brother would have not allowed your help, he is a man of honor such as my father.” As you are something sick. She had to choose her words carefully around this man, he was never going to pity her. What Littlefinger wanted was the mixture of innocence and sly seduction. She started to give him a personalized speech as they walk to her horse. “Jon is stubborn and would never have taken a chance on your promise as I have done. He is my brother but he doesn’t always know what could be best.” She wanted to make Littlefinger think he was her dirtiest secret but after last night her mind was filled with things much dirtier than even Petyr Baelish.

But he had taken the bait. Once she had found the horse grazing on dark green moor she glanced to see Littlefinger smiling. He stopped to ask her something and put on a concerned face. “So with this promise being fulfilled, this extended offer of your home, will you forgive the wrongs I have done? Am I absolved?” 

Sansa grabbed the bridle of the animal and looked at him face on and responded, “I do not have my home yet, Lord Baelish. Though I now see that you are a man I can come to trust, someone who will do right by me.” She hoped that would do the trick. With that spark of hope she gave him, he walked away smiling again as she climbed up onto her horse. I am not the master of this game yet, but I must stay a step ahead. 

Sansa looked to the horizon, to where Winterfell only laid a few miles beyond. She was scared to think what was happening on the field at this very moment. She knew that they would have to be fighting by now, but she was more scared that it was over already. Did Ramsay slaughter the last people who were loyal? Was she just leading more men, men who owed her nothing, to a battle that they had no reason to join, just to die? Letting out a breath, that crisped as it touched the Northern air, she thought about Jon. Was he already dead? Would Ramsay pull him out of the field and make him something like Theon. Theon and Jon were two different men, she knew. But they were both strong boys she knew in her youth, who were raised and trained within the walls of Winterfell. Along with Robb. But Robb was dead and Theon turned into something of a shell of a man, so what would happen to the third boy that she grew up knowing when he was at the mercy of a Bolton. 

Sansa knew Jon had died already. Even though she couldn’t even begin to comprehend that, Davos and Tormund and plenty of other men had told her the story. Jon would never talk about it, it was only by other’s stories around fires and food, that she came to know the story. Jon had died a bloody death once before, but she worried especially with his conversation last night, would he survive this? Would he survive what she asked of him? Even if what they did last night was just a dream or mistake, why did he ever agree to fight? Why did she ever think it was okay to ask so many men to die for her, most of all her brother? Throughout the campaign she had her worries about it all, but never like this. She was afraid and scared and her body felt numb as so many emotions tried to creep through. She could feel a sob wanting to wrack her body but she would not allow herself to be weak in the face of any of these men. Winterfell was going to be hers. Theirs.

A gust of wind came up behind her, making her straighten up. Leaving her skin like goose flesh, bumped all over. But it made her forget the feeling of guilt so she could turn around to see that the camp was almost entirely packed up. Fires watered out, tents collapsed, and men helmed were beginning to saddle their steeds. Lord Yohn Royce weaved between the calvary. She sort of felt bad for the poor creature’s back, as he came to halt next to her.

The lord looking straight down the road asked her, “How far from here to the battle grounds, my Lady Sansa?” 

She looked at him pleased, genuinely pleased. And with a small smile, that she rarely wore, she responded with, “Merely a couple of miles, we could be there in minutes, if your men and horses are willing.” She paused for a moment and the lord looked to her. “I want to thank you my lord. What I said earlier was brash. Nothing but you and your men’s honor has brought you here and I wish to thank you. Truly,” ended with a soft whimper. She was truly thankful but she knew Yohn Royce and all the nobility of the Vale were the same. They were the people who took her lies about Baelish like hot tea and honey when she made them pity her with her flowing tears. 

“I knew your father.” Everyone knew him, that doesn’t mean they would help. “I will help you retrieve your home. We are here to help the North the way we should have with your dearly departed brother.” He seemed pleased with that.

“Then my lord we must go, for my other brother Jon’s forces will need aid soon. He is the brother that needs your help now. We must ride.” She started to get her horse to move, but before she sped to a gallop, she heard the lord huff. Huff at the mention of Jon.

She let it go though as her horse raced along the countryside. Sansa was having men envelope her on either side. Knights racing off to meet whatever state the battle was in. She slowed down for them to pass her. And just as she said, in minutes she could see Winterfell in the distance and the battle that lay beneath it. Piles of bodies had formed of men on either side. A circle of Bolton men had formed around Jon’s forces, but as soon as she saw it, the Knights of the Vale broke their ranks. The calvary cut through the Bolton force like a heated knife through butter. 

She was by the tree line and felt Littlefinger’s presence as she came to stop and watch a victory unfold. When she glanced at him she saw the goateed face scrunch into a smirk as he nodded to her. He wanted her to know she only had this because of him. But she already knew that. She would not be in the North if it wasn’t for Littlefinger. For all that the gods knew, she could have been executed by Cersei in Kingslanding.

She hadn’t thought of the Queen in some time but she knew that the thought of her would soon be in her head again but at that moment all she could see was Ramsay trotting away with men back into Winterfell. He would lock himself inside Winterfell like the man said at their little council yesterday. He lost the army, he lost the fear that shrouded him. He will lose everything.

Though she did notice something else, three ominous beings tailing Ramsay. The giant of course was easy to make out but she soon could discern that the others were Jon with Tormund not far behind. The stupid man was going straight towards Winterfell. She took her own horse into a canter. She heard Littlefinger and Royce call out to her but they did not follow. She didn’t know what was about to happen inside those gates but she would not miss it. 

She dismounted when coming to the splintered gate. Sansa could remember the pain in her knees from when she jumped from these walls as she got out of the saddle. Her heart raced for she knew this as her home, but the memories could no longer all be labeled as those of just a happy and wistful childhood. Some of them were severely painful and plain torturous. Her forces had won against those of the man who thought he would always win.

She walked in not expecting what she found. It was not scary but something almost eerie. Men on both sides of the conflict were standing around the courtyard. Some had swords in their hands and others had drawn bows and arrows but they were all lowered. They did not see her come through, they kept staring ahead. Staring at the origin of the sound. The almost rhythmic sound of splattering blood. She could not understand what it was until she walked around to see that it was Jon breaking the face of her husband. 

Jon did not even look human. Even though he took the shape of a man, he looked like all of their direwolves did when tearing up their prey. His face and hair were matted in blood, dirt, and sweat. The man who asked for her trust as he took her last night had changed into an animal. He hovered over her last night but not like this. Where Jon was tender last night, Sansa could see nothing but pure rage. Her face began to contort because she did not know how to react to this Jon who was doing something she had only dreamed of doing to Ramsay. The very thing he had done to her. Jon has dominated him and brought him to a place of raw, bloodied vulnerability.

But as she watched she came closer and Jon looked up at her. His eyes weren’t just stormy grey they seemed to be full on black when they came to meet her cerulean blue. She saw something that drove them last night. It was an aching hunger. He needed to beat Ramsay. He needed to do that for her but Jon knew Sansa’s hunger too. They were both embarrassed by who they were looking at because with that hunger came their guilt. And they broke that world shattering eye contact because even winning victory and the last of the Bolton’s lying half dead on the floor they still could not find the right words for acknowledging the previous evening. To acknowledge each other in any capacity.

Jon got up and walked away and that was it. Things went by in a blur. Everyone with a job, everyone with a purpose. Jon somehow knew exactly what to do. Bolton banners were switched out for some of the Stark ones Sansa had managed to pull together during their campaign. The corpse of the brave giant that died in the last stand was dragged outside the walls of Winterfell. His body and the corpses of friends and foe were set ablaze. And while those who were dead were taken out, those who were injured were brought in. Jon was in the middle of it all and Sansa was on the sidelines. She had no job, no place while Jon could not stop moving.

She watched and weaved in and out but whenever she tried to help someone else, a man more qualified took her place. Men were taken into the castle to at least be warm as they waited hopefully for the hands of a healer. Sansa thought maybe after taking care of her wounds that she received at the hands of Ramsay she could help the dying men but even that seemed insurmountable. Whenever she tried walking through the threshold of the keep she felt hands all over her and her eyesight would flash white. Not the attentive hands of Jon but ones that groped, pulled, and scratched. 

She made people fight and die for Winterfell and now she couldn’t even be able to enter it without wanting to suffocate? She needed to be done with Ramsay. She needed to make herself see that he could not hurt her. So she went back into the middle of it all. She walked up to Jon, who somehow managed to find something to wipe his face, just in time to see one particular gurney carrying a corpse into Winterfell. The body carrying the face of the boy she helped her mother raise. When seeing the black fur of his wolf, she knew his fate was sealed. She could tell Ramsay used him for a game with the arrow sticking out of his chest. Sansa could remember Ramsay threatening to use her as his prey in one of his “games”. Hearing the screams of his unwilling participants in the Wolfswood all the way in her quarters at Winterfell. 

Rickon wasn’t a baby, or even a small child anymore. He had grown into someone who could hold a sword and ride a horse, but neither she nor Jon would get to see that. He could have grown into a proper Lord, with a lady wife and children of his own. The rightful heir to Winterfell. He could have inherited everything around them being the last trueborn son of Eddard and Catelyn Stark. This dead corpse once had a life that held more value to the North than both Jon and her combined. 

Bastard and Bolton. Yet they were the last of the great dynasty of the North. The only two standing and breathing crisp Northern air. So many others were supposed to be here instead of them. The lost, damaged souls who managed to fuck each other in a night of cruel passion. Sansa tried not to imagine that, instead she remembered that if Rickon survived before now that maybe another certain boy also survived. But this thought was disrupted and the hope died as Jon stated to those carrying the body of Rickon Stark, that he was to be buried in the crypt.

Buried away in the crypt, where father was, where Robb should be. The bones of her family for thousands of years. They all died and ended up in Winterfell because Starks belong in Winterfell. Dead or alive, the Starks were the only ones who belonged in Winterfell.

Jon began to walk away but she stopped by saying his name in the most harrowing voice, “Jon.” He turned tiredly towards her, she knew he hated her right now. Sansa could tell Jon hated her more than anyone else in the world. She didn’t know what reason made him hate her more though. Was it because she didn’t tell him about the Knights of the Vale, about the plan she made with Littlefinger? Was it that she condemned their brother and turned out to be right? Was it the fact that she was the reason this all started, her call to action? Or was it still the embarrassment within them both? But she had a question that Jon could actually answer, “Where is he?” Jon would have to wait as she dealt with another one of her demons.

He had to be locked up outside for all spare space inside the heated walls of the castle had to be given to a fallen man. He was locked up in the kennels, thrown to the floor. Bloodied, soiled, and still unconscious from the beating he took. Jon had broken Ramsay’s nose, his teeth, and had torn the flesh of his skin. The face would never be able to smile the same. The hands would never touch her again. She didn’t even want to be as close as five feet to the man. Sansa tensed, she needed to find someone to help her with this task. 

When she looked in the courtyard still abuzz she searched for anyone. Anyone but Jon. But she did not need to worry about running into him for she found the perfect man to help her. The furs she had seen him wear the entire man time she knew him were soaked. His garments almost matched the color of his hair. He probably had to roll around in the dirt, fighting for the upper hand. But he stood tall now breathing heavy as though he had finished lifting something heavy, drinking from a bottle that smelled putrid.

“Tormund,” she just loud enough for him to turn around and see who was behind him. His eyes were wide. The man just did just fight in a battle and was most definitely still wound up, but his eyes calmed when he looked at her for a second. “Tormund I need your help.”

All he did was grunt but she took as one of goodwill. She did not know the man that much but he had never said anything rude to her. He may have been off colored sometimes and Jon might have needed to explain what he meant, but he was never rude. She walked him back to the kennels, to the particular cell that Ramsay laid sprawled in. She had dragged a chair into the kennel and laid the hounds’ ropes across it. When Tormund saw the display and the dogs in the cages nearby began to howl he let out a tut. Sansa turned around wondering what that response had meant.

He was shaking his head and giving her slight unsure smirk, “Did yer’ broth’a tell yah wut th’t shit said aft’a yah sped off on yer horse yesta’day?” She had no clue as to what he was talking about and she told him so.

“No, I just need you to help me lift him into that chair and tie him up. I can’t do it myself, I can’t even bring myself to get near him.” She shivered, looking at him brought back the feelings.

“No one blames yah girl. Not a one. I can tie him up for yah like yah asked,” he nodded as she gave him the keys to go in. Dragged the chair behind him. He continued to say, “I have a sharp knife dat yah can use to cut his cock right off.” Her eyes grew wide at that sentiment.

“I don’t know what I am going to do with him, yet.” She looked at his face that was a bloody wreck as it bounced around due to his limp neck and Tormund maneuvering him like a doll as he tied Ramsay up. She knew she could remain strong behind this gate. She could watch Tormund cut him up or she could watch him starve or die of the cold. She could watch him but Sansa had been tormented and humiliated and touched too many times to be there.

Once Tormund finished the job. He let out a huff exhaustion. This man had done more than enough to warrant a hot meal and nice bed. So when he turned and came out and looked through the cage with her she was about to thank and dismiss him. They were bound to have fired up Winterfell’s ovens or at least have made a fire to cook some stew for all the men. But Tormund broke the silence first, “He told Jon that he would feed us all t’his hounds. He said he hadn’t fed them in seven days. Make what you w’ll w’th that lass.” Then he turned to leave her to stare at the bastard alone as the hounds barked at his shadow passing over their cages. 

She didn’t even realize how those words lit up inside her until she heard the lock click free as she unlocked the gangplanks between the kennel cages. The smell would eventually make the hounds hoard to their master. She then locked Ramsay's cage up again. Sansa just watched between the bars for only a couple of moments before her prisoner started to awaken from his slumber. He would only lift his head to stare at her. His eyes were gaping pits of terror, he didn’t know things about her, but she had to admit he knew her. Knew how to scare her, how to weep and gnash. He called out her name and she felt as though a snake had come up her back. 

“Hello Sansa,” crept from his lips. He thought he could torment her from in there. “Is this where I will be staying now?” What makes someone think he is a god like this man had convinced himself. Somehow Ramsay could remain to be cocky as he was tied up, and left to bleed in a cage. But as he looked at her she could tell he was affected by her.

He knew what this cage meant if she was on the other side of the bars so he sighed and expressed something between acceptance and boredom. “No...our time has come to an end.” She knew that all he wanted was to provoke a response. He always wanted to be acknowledged. That was right, she knew pieces of him. Sansa knew he couldn’t stand being a bastard. He needed attention, not love, loyalty, or respect but attention. She was giving him attention but she knew he wanted more. Ramsay would love nothing more for her to respond, for her to make a mistake when it came to her words or her actions. She had a response for him though when he said, “You can’t get rid of me.” Both of them were damaged in so many different ways and that’s why he felt so entitled to emphasize, “I will always be a part of you.”

Sansa knew he was right. She killed his seed that had tried planting itself inside her. Ramsay’s festering offshoots will to survive had been squashed with her taking moon tea until whatever flutter inside of her was vanquished. But she would always hold the memories of him. His hands would haunt her. His house would haunt her family as both he and his father had killed a brother each. They had destroyed the castle she stood in. Yet she could rebuild Winterfell. Her family could never be whole like it once was but she could bury the dead. And maybe one day the memory of his touch would fade. The wounds would heal into scars that would only remind her that she won the war that they had been waging since she married him. 

His torture would always be apart of her, but not in the way he had envisioned it. She would use her pain to create a better North. Sansa knew that Ramsay had made her want to be stronger, better. He was the root of all her suffering and she would erase all that he had done to her and her family in a heartbeat, but she could not do that. Sansa would have to live with all of it, but it would only galvanize her. 

“Your words will disappear,” was the first thing she said. He would never hold a blade to another person again, never threaten anyone into submission again. Our blades are sharp will be only said by smithies and butchers. It will never be used to intimidate those who are weak. 

“Your house will disappear.” The banners could be burned, never to be made again. People will not even remember the stain of its red, white, and blue. The Dreadfort could possibly be given to those who were loyal or it could be completely destroyed. She was the one who would get to choose. She could burn it down to the ground and level it into a field. House Bolton will be something of lore until it becomes nothing at all.

“Your name will disappear.” Ramsay’s name will die with his victims, but even they would never mention it again. The power of his name would fade as he would just be another smudge of some historical account.

“All memory of you will disappear.” She had seen to him now. He was a rapist, a murder, a demon, but soon all he was going to be was dead. He had cut, sliced, thrashed, punched, burned, scratched, violated, and defiled her, but she would kill him without even touching him. Erase him from the North partially with his own help of not having fed his own beasts. Never let him have the attention he always seemed. The hounds were awake and slowly making their way to smell of his bloodied flesh. A beast eaten by his own beasts seemed fitting end. And every word she said to him was exuding confidence, as she stared at him. Back straight, eyes dead. Not so much as a flinch.

He tried moving to see the cause of the noises that were happening all around him. But thanks to Tormund all movement was limited. The pitter patter of paws that left creaks in the floor as they came out on either side of the cage. The heavy breathing of the animals that slowly became sniffs, grunts, and growls. They circled him as they would do any prey. This scared him like a little boy as could be seen by the panic that flashed in his eyes. He looked straight back up at her and said as calmly as he could manage, “My hounds will never harm me.”

Sansa repeated Tormund’s recollection, “You haven’t fed them in seven days, you said it yourself.” 

“They are loyal beasts.” His retort would not be strong enough. Loyalty will only get you so far once you enrage the animal. He would finally learn this lesson. 

“They were,” she could practically hear their stomachs growl as loud as their slobbering mouths. “Now they’re starving.” They got closer and closer to him until one of the hounds came up right in front of the man strapped down and started to take an interest at the open flesh. The cage was dark but Ramsay’s blood was black and the meat on his body was definitely tenderized from its beating.

The dog tried lick at his master's face and all the other dogs were now less than an arm’s length away. The hounds, Sansa, and even Ramsay all knew what was to happen next. Ramsay began to squirm and shout commands, but they had no affect. His words would never have impact again as the beast lunged and started tearing at the bastard’s face and throat. The man's screams were not just those of pain but shrieks of pure horror and suffering. Just hearing them gave her relief, the chance to feel as though she got justice. Then they stopped and she let out a breath that she had been holding in for months. Never again would she know his touch, his voice. Dead to feed the dogs. She turned to leave, she didn’t need to see anymore.

Walking out, hearing the sounds of his dogs gnawing away at the man who tried to cut pieces of her out, she smiled. Like she said, he would disappear. With dogs like that, he would be nothing but bones in the morning. 

The night was cold even for the North and she found the courtyard to be empty. She didn’t know where to go. The Godswood? Back to camp? Or inside to find some food and help wrap men in bandages? 

But then she pulled up in a world wind and was thrown up against the wall. The impact knocked the wind out from her lungs. It absolutely frightened her, but then she felt a familiar feeling as her lips were crushed against another’s. Jon had pushed her against the wall and the kiss shot from her lips all the way to her loins. He heated her body and soul. The in her fright was still quite real but with Jon it almost added to the pleasure of it all. He was still an absolute sweaty, muddied mess from today’s activity but that stopped neither of them from feeling up each other. He had one hand placed on her neck to hold her still, his fingers teasing at the baby hairs, while the other sneaked under her arm to wrap around her back. 

He was still being an animal, as he was being before. Jon was not smashing her face into the ground as he had done Ramsay but the aggression and pent up masculine outrage was there. But as Sansa had found her bearings and his tongue in her mouth, began to show him that he found his match. She pushed him closer as she snuck her arm over his shoulder and pressed into his back. The other arm she wrapped around his neck like he was doing to her, but her fingers crawled up into his hair. It was in a ridiculously tight bun to keep it out of his face. Her fingers itched to untie it and so she did. She yanked on the string that held it up and his sweat glossed locks fell around to partially curtain their faces. Her fingers ran through his curls and he pressed her harder against the wall of the courtyard for he waited for her here and he seemed to never want to let her escape.

Sansa would forget all her thoughts of disgust as she fell into the embrace and let their downfall begin.


	3. Garrote

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon side of the struggle, during the battle and it’s immediate aftermath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this took too fucking long to post. I had to take some major tests and school had just been rough in general, like what is sleep and mental health? Also I thought I was going to start making shorter chapters but this fucker ended up being 11k words. There are probably a couple of grammar mistakes and I am sorry but after writing this, I am not grammar checking it anymore. Which mad dumb when the goal of this was to help with my writing skills but oh well. I hope you like it. I’ll try to get a (shorter) chapter in the next week or so. Also I’m making fun words the chapter names. This one is means basically to suffocate. And I can’t get Jon’s name to sit in the middle of the text and it’s fucking with my head.

All she had to do was touch him and he’d unravel. He must truly be snow and she must truly be kissed by fire because as their skin merely touched...he would begin to melt.

She bridged the space and lightly pressed her forehead to his. Enough contact for Jon to be ignited with her heat. It was a small moment that would pass soon enough and nothing needed to be said. They usually would start tearing at each other’s clothes and bodies by now, but every once and awhile she’d allow him to stay like this. She wouldn’t push him and he wouldn’t pull at her.

Sansa’s skin was softer than anything he had ever touched and her pinkish lips were delicious and he just had to just kiss them. They were begging to be kissed as they looked all full and parted. Jon brought his hand up to her chin to position her head, perfect for him to kiss. She, however, moved away from the guide of his hand and she backed away from his impending kiss.

Sansa’s eyes bore into him and she tried to back out of their intimate embrace. Her body language completely changed and it left Jon cold and asking what he had done wrong, but he did not hold on like he wanted to. He let her backup. Jon knew she wanted to say something because the night before, and all the nights before that, he told her off. He knew he was ruining her in more ways than one.

His actions were of a selfish lustful man and his words when he was not whispering something filthy were those of chastising septa. Jon knew he was causing her pain and that caused him pain as well. A pain that felt like the very daggers that killed him. She stuck him in the heart. Sansa’s eyes looked down at the floor in front of her and her expression was vacant. “Let’s go in,” was all she decided say.

The intoxication known as her, started to fade. She was waking him from his dream. She turned around to open the doors of the council room but he couldn’t just let her go. Trying to stop her from walking away, he said, “Sansa,” but he was interrupted.

“I wouldn’t want to keep you from your men,” shooting at him a death glare finishing her statement with that cursed word, “Brother.”

“Sansa let’s-“ was all he could get out before she interrupted him again.

”Do you need to kiss your lady sister for courage before you talk to all your new men?” Her words had bit that left his face hot in a different way. “Do you need your whore to fuck you tonight so that you can scold her tomorrow for how fucking the daughter of your father is a sin?” He knows how she not so subtly changed “lady sister” to “whore.” He began to loosen his grip from the fright of her words. Chills began to run along Jon’s spin and he had lost the ability to speak to her. “Figure out if you want to embrace your lady sister or if you want to kiss and fuck your whore.”

And with that knife, she slipped out of his grasp. Out of the room and into the one with a mismatch of lords waiting for him. She left him alone in the council chamber’s adjoining room, so uncomfortably numb. He felt his guise cracking from her words. But had he not hurt her with his words everyday? Scolded her. Scolded himself for the insanity of their situation. Of course she should return the favor rightfully so.

They needed to be the leading front that ruled the North. Not perverse beings that rubbed on each other each time the other needed to be pleasured. She was his sister. He was not something she could use and the same went for him. Jon never wanted to use her. Abuse her.

But when she left him like this, cold and alone, he didn’t care if what they were was vile or something that would sicken others. He just wanted her next to him, with him. Not just to kiss or fuck. He just wanted her. He wanted his fingers in her hair. He wanted her conversations. He wanted the way she bit her lip when doing numbers and accounts. He wanted to be the one to untie her corsets. He wanted to kiss her scars and make the demons fall away. He wanted everything that she was.

But was less than a bastard. He was coward when it came to Sansa. Jon would make no proclamations or grand gestures, he would just walk into the council right behind her. In fact, he would not even look at her during the meeting. Jon did nothing, because that was always so much easier.

Jon

He walked slowly across the ramparts after talking to a bunch of maids and looked out to the field that he and thousands of men had fought mercilessly across. The suffocating close encounter of it all was something that would be ingrained in him. The intensity of it was different from the Wall or Hardhome. Those places he swung and swung in the open space of it all, chasing after or being chased by the enemy.

On the battlefield in front of Winterfell was a new horror to experience. Trapped between corpses and fear riddled men with no room to breathe. He thought throughout the battle he would die again. From the time he saw the Bolton forces charging to him beating in the bastard’s face he thought, beyond a shadow of a doubt, he would die. Jon had the feeling that at any moment it would go black again. But as he was being trampled by the men he blinked and he saw red.

Not red as in rage but the red of auburn locks that had managed to fall from a tightly made bun. The hairs that fell against the most alluring woman’s face after the most intense experience of his life. They were as close as humanly possible, yet he was unsatisfied by the fact that he didn’t get to touch, taste, and kiss every inch of her skin with her dress being on the entire time. He wanted to wake up with her and burrow into her, not wake up two hours before dawn to prepare his men. He wanted to do it all over again and do it better. Jon wasn’t prepared for that emotional intensity that caused such an eruption for them to end up in that predicament.

But it was all wrong. She is still your sister. He kept thinking of that. _Sister._ Ned Stark’s daughter. But even with all that he could not stop thinking about the auburn tendrils that were matted to her face by sweat as she dozed. How he twisted them in her fingers before he left her tent. His feelings around Sansa and about Sansa were entrancing. They made him passionate, confused, hurt, joyful, terrified, and animalistic.

Rickon was dead, his men were dying, but she made him crawl up for air when he believed all was lost. And before he could understand what was truly happening he could hear the stomping of hooves, the swarming sound of cavalry. We will be finished off in one final motion. Everything happened so fast, but all he could tell was he was not dead. The knights were not foe but friend and they were finishing off the Bolton forces. But he didn’t care about the army of men. He wasn’t fighting this battle because he hated the infantry men, he did this for one striking purpose: to take Winterfell and kill Ramsay Bolton dead.

That’s how he found himself running from his men and to the grand fortress and castle of his childhood. Wun Wun and Tormund at his back he ran until his lungs failed him. Whenever he blinked the red in Jon’s eyes would grow darker and darker. It was now the color of blood rather than the color of womanly hair. The mud, soldier’s blood, and Sansa’s pain weighed him down. He saw some of her scars last night, with even the little skin she showed him. The doors may be shut and Ramsay might want to start a siege but this was going to end today whether that man liked it or not.

Jon motioned to Wun Wun and others to do whatever it took to get into the yard of Winterfell. Jon’s mind withdrew the memory of riding out this very gate, years ago. Riding out to meet a destiny he hoped would be full of honor. Now to come back questioning himself even more.

What was he? He had become so many things and yet he still could not figure out what he was. Bastard? Crow? Wildling? Lord Commander? Traitor? Oathbreaker? Dead man? Chosen one? Stark? Snow? _Sisterfucker?_

That last one’s cruelty burrowed under his skin and irritated his being. He hated the name but loved what it meant. He loved being on top of her. He loved tasting her. He loved being inside her, oh how wonderfully he fit in her. How her walls gave him a feeling that he just could not describe. Everything about Sansa Stark made his face hot and loins ache. He loved her body. He loved h…

_Don’t think that. You have already made Ned Stark roll over in his grave. You were to protect his daughter not violate her further._

Jon was on the cusp of insanity as he tried dealing with the dissonance going on inside his head. Wun Wun broke through the gate and they were going to take it all back. He would set one thing right, but the arrow that zipped through the air to land in the giant's eye made Jon explode. He watched an ally, a friend, fall to ground with enormous thud and this shattered the wall of presentability.

Ramsay pressed even harder into him, calling for the one on one fight that Jon had offered the day before. A fight that could have saved so many. This caused Jon to pick up a shield that laid in front of him, run, and attack. A haze of obliviousness had been followed by an incredible aching pain in his body that started in his knuckles. The pain crept up his arm but he could not see what he was doing. Something had taken control of him. Made him practically...a wolf. Yet the spell over him was broken with these two pained cerulean blue eyes staring directly into his.

She looked scared, and he knew why. The image of him would horrify any woman, man, or child. He needed to beat Ramsay, beat him till he was no more, but her eyes. She crept closer but he couldn’t stand someone being able to peer so deeply into his soul. He ached and not because his body had been overworked. Those eyes of blue made him want her again and again. He couldn’t keep looking at them.

So Jon got up and got to work. He needed to move. He couldn’t look in Sansa’s direction. He couldn’t touch Ramsay, he was Sansa’s to deal as she saw fit, but he had him peeled from the ground. Ramsay was taken to be secured by some of the Castle guard. Jon assumes charge because he just needed things to move. He had to keep moving. He took on one task then the next and others started to move with him. Everyone started to move as a single unit. Dying men were brought into the hall and dead men were piled up on the field at his behest. Banners taken down and replaced with the Stark’s grey direwolf gracing the walls of this torn castle that was merely stones away from collapsing.

Everyone moved along to the beat of Jon’s drum except Sansa. Maybe she wanted to gawk at the labor of these men or maybe she just didn’t know what to do. Jon wanted to rush to her side but he had to force himself to look away from her. He _needed_ to move. Her face alone made him weaker and weaker and Jon already felt like passing out. Her beauty was distracting and her questioning eyes made him feel wrong in the right kind of way. He wanted to sneak up on her like wolf’s prey so he just ignored her until Rickon was brought in.

A boy so young, yet so grown up from the one he left. Had his voice deepened? Had he had his first kiss? What were his dreams of the future? Did he recognize Jon on that battlefield? Or did he just run because of Ramsay’s threats? What would life be like if he was still alive? Jon had so many questions looking at this boy he loved. Will always love. Jon had missed his laugh and pouty fits. He missed all of his siblings but this was the one he almost had in his grasp again. Jon would only blame himself for the death of Rickon. He could not let this boy be burned.

Sansa pulled him back to reality calling his name. He turned to look at her. He said nothing directly to her. Just stared defeatedly. He was tearing at the seams, not to run up and kiss her. He wanted to burrow into her bosom. He wanted nothing more than to crawl up into her until the pain was gone. Both the physical pain and the one that had crept up into since he originally left for Castle Black. But he just stared heartlessly at her and when she asked a question, he did not answer her. He called for a guard to show her where they had placed Ramsay, then he carried on.

She had been the reason he pushed through the pain, but to be around her caused him pain as well.

 _Bastard’s lust. Fucked your sister even after all she had been through. She was raped and abused and you fucked her?_ Jon felt sick. He doubled over to gag. People might be looking at him but he didn’t care. He felt like death. Did he only imagine her trust? Her lust? Did she feel used and unwanted? Jon never wanted her to feel so, for he felt right when he was with her. He felt abnormal from the moment he woke up panting from death. He had been sore and different from the scars and trauma of it all. Yet when he held her and was with her last night it was like he was normal again. His muscles were tense as he had thrusted in and out of her sweet body, but he finally felt relaxed.

As he sat with at meals and talked to her during this campaign she had opened up and he let her in as well. Every moment with her left him off guard, making him feel truly human again. And last night that ignited the flame in him again to be even more true.

He was different. The boy had been killed. He thought he killed the poor bastard all ready with his work as a stern Lord Commander. But he was dead wrong. When he woke up gasping after absolute darkness, he truly felt a rush of unbearable heat burn through his body. He moved and tried to get up away from it. Then he felt cold again like he was laying on the bloody snow again. And the only time he has felt truly warm since has been with her.

He was used to cold. A bastard of the North was named Snow because they new what true cold feels like. To be turned away into the snow and felt the cold, not only of the landscape, but the cold of judging eyes and stern faces. But Sansa, even though she didn’t smile as much as she used to and had been hurt in a similar fashion to him, he felt warmed. Warmed in a way that he hasn’t felt since maybe Ygritte, since he took his oath, or maybe since he left Winterfell all those years ago. And this mind could not accept this, not accept acceptance and it caused his body to be sickened.

That’s what made the Knight’s of the Vale alleviating in more ways than one. He and his men had been saved because of these knights who of course had come to her aid. But it made him see again that she didn’t trust him, that last night had been a mistake on both sides and he could become just a bastard brother again. A pillar for her, as their father would call for him to be, but not her confidant because he could see he didn’t have her confidence.

He watched her go into the kennels and just managed to not break his already pulsating fist by hitting it up against the walls of the keep. He went out to oversee the heaps of corpses carrying with him a torch stick that had been hanging unlit in the courtyard. The last of the injured men had been found and were being rushed into the keep or awaiting help. Jon started to gather dead grass and twigs to make a smoldering fire that turned into a bright flame.

Jon looked into the flame and thought he heard something call out to him. He could not tell what it was saying but it was calling out to him personally. It wasn’t saying Jon but it called his name as if it knew a secret he could not comprehend. He almost put his hand out to touch it but barely stopped himself. Jon shook his head, picked up and lit the torch stick. He along with many other men started lighting the dead men ablaze. He set many on fire but did not stay to watch them burn into dust. A few men had volunteered to stay while Jon headed back to the keep and into the stone building till he found himself in the kitchens.

The cooks that we at Winterfell didn’t seem as though they were struck with grief due to the day’s event and did not seem to have much of a problem with already preparing food for the new castle inhabitants. Davos was in the kitchen talking with some of the cooks and a few young boys and girls who could have been anything from stable boys to serving maids. Jon suspected more were around the castle but he trusted Davos. The old man gave Jon a nod as he saw the muddy man, and came over to him.

“Well,” Davos started in a matter of fact way. “The cooks have started on some food before we came in knowing whoever won would need food.” He turned away from Jon and sort of motioned to the many women at work. “They are fixing to have something warm for the first wave of men in about five minutes.”

He turned back for Jon to say, “Good.” He raised a hand to run across the top of his head and let out a breath.

“They say they are glad that the Starks are back and even the young ones who work here say that they are very glad that you and your sister have seized victory.” Jon huffed and rolled his eyes, humored at this claim made on behalf of the servant by Davos. _Did they drink secret toasts to my health?_ Maybe Davos was saying this for his own sake; however, Jon abandoned that notion this as Davos changed the tone of his voice. “But let me be the first to say that it could have not ended in so many deaths if a certain comman-“

Jon cut him off immediately, “I get your disappointment in me.” He knew what Davos was trying to say. Jon knew he should never had run out, he ruined their plan and fell to the very trap Sansa had mentioned. “I am not the reason we stand here in the castle. I understand that Davos.” Both men stood in silence looking at the heated floors of Winterfell’s kitchen. Jon eventually broke the silence to ask, “Have you found the Maester yet?”

“Yes, he is already in the Great Hall tending to men so I guessin’ he is also fine with the changes bein’ made in leadership. I guess the Maesters are for castles not lords.” Davos moved out of the way so two of the cooks could haul the cauldron of steaming stew down the hall. Jon picked up part of the handle as he saw the women struggling. And as he helped them carry it out of the room, Davos yelled at him, “I am sure that we can get him to send out ravens soon.”

He focused on helping the woman taking it out of their hands so that they could help the other women carry bowls, spoons, and whatever else needed to be brought out. The pot smelled delicious and he felt it’s heat of the steam begin to form water droplets on his skin. He turned to one of the youngest ones that was walking next to him.

“What is your name?” was the only thing he could come up with to ask the girl with flaxen hair. She would not meet his eyes as she carried pitchers of something for men to drink. Jon could not tell if she was sad, embarrassed, or some other emotion that made her not want to acknowledge him. “I am Jon.”

She did not respond to that either. I could have killed her brother or her father out there. He would not try to push at her. The girl looked like she would be a couple years younger than Sansa. _Maybe as old as Arya._

 _Definitely taller though._ And with that he chuckled.

As the two of them walked with the other women walked through the castle, men seeing pitchers and Jon with the pot were starting to follow them. They had come into the smaller dining hall rather than the Great Hall, which had become the place men were taken if they were injured. Men grabbed a table and pushed it against the wall for Jon and the women to place the various items down. The men swarmed as soon as it was laid out and the women ran back to the kitchen.

Jon followed them rather then finally relaxing with his men. He tried catching up with them but so many more men crowded the the rooms and halls of Winterfell it was hard to maneuver. But as he entered the kitchen yet again a new pot was already on the logs and the women were all at work again.

He wanted to help. Jon needed to be away from the men he somehow knew that he needed to help the women. But first he needed to relay his intent. He raised his voice to say, “Hello,” for he realized he had no idea what to say. “My name is Jon...Jon Snow that is. Son of Ned Stark. I know Lord Davos has spoken to the lot of you...but I find that I should introduce myself and tell you intent of my men and I.”

One of the eldest women in the room, who had been cutting cabbage leaves, set down her knife to respond in her thick Northern accent, “We know who ya are. Just let the girls get on with their work.” And she went back to slicing.

But the girl that had held the pitchers came up behind the older woman, wiping fly away hairs off her forehead. She put her hand on the woman’s back in a comforting motion and finally looked up to meet his eyes. “I am sure Brilla does not mean to sound rude m’lord, she just wants us all to properly thank you and yer men for what you did out there with this food.”

Jon nodded, “No offense is taken, I just wanted you all to know that no harm will come to you. And even though I am no lord, any man who does tries to harm you in any way will be dealt accordingly. I want Winterfell to be the haven I once knew.” All the women were staring at him blankly, with wide eyes and some of the younger ones, including the one who had just spoken, were wearing small seemingly forced smiles. “I am sorry if you have lost someone today but I will have you all know safety within these walls.”

Beside the older woman scoffing, most of them curtsied, bowed, or nodded to turn back to their predestined tasks. Skidding around the dreadfully hot but hearty smelling room. They seemed to want to ignore Jon as he awkwardly stood there, rocking back and forth on his toes. He stared at the floor thinking of what he should say or do next. Questioning himself excessively. _Should I gather them some firewood for the stove? Should I say more? Have I just scared them?_

The girl with flaxen hair walked up to him holding something in her hands. She extended it to him with such a delicate hand to reveal it was a damp rag. “Your words are kind but I believe they would sound sweeter if they came from a man whose face they can actually see.” And with that she gave a smile.

Jon suddenly understood her meaning as he probably looked positively dreadful. He thought his face was mostly clean as he wiped it several times as he worked, but he was sure he still covered in shit. He took the rag and wiped it across his face, turning the fabric almost black. He kept wiping more and more aggressively as the girl ran to get him another rag wet.

When she handed him the second one she said,”To tell you the truth, most of the men we called our husbands, fathers and brothers are already dead. Either died with your brother or by Kraken or Bolton hands.”

Her voice was stern and confident. It reminded him of so many other women. Lady Catelyn. Ygritte. Gilly. Arya.

Sansa.

”You seem to be somewhat of a leader around here along with Brilla over there. Maybe I can help you and you can help me, Miss-“

“Feona. My name is Feona.”

“My name is Jon,” he stupidly recited dragging the cloth across his neck.

She gave him a small smirk, “You‘ve mentioned.”

She abandoned him for her work, leaving Jon to clean himself so that people could actually recognize his face. The next batch of stew was soon ready to be taken down to the small dining hall. This trip was a bit harder for Jon as he was tripping over soldiers who were so fatigued from the day's affairs they just fell asleep in the walkways. Loving nothing more than to join them, he trudged into the dining hall to serve those awake with hunger. More utensils and pitchers, of what he determined was ale, followed him.

Jon could also feel the ache within himself that called out for food. He ladled himself and several other men bowls as they clapped him on the back and gave him exhausted smiles and genuine laughter. In his mind, the company honestly pleased him more than the delicious stew he drank without a spoon. The soup was better than anything he had tasted in years but the men, though worn to the bone, were still in high spirits.

He did not sit idle as he usually did in conversations such as this but actually laughed and talked with the men. The men would seem a bit more solem when he talked but he could tell no man’s laugh was forced that night. Every ale raised was authentic and true. Jon knew there would be problems soon with the state of the North and the feud of Wildlings and Northmen would rear its ugly head. But Northmen, Wildlings, and even Valemen seemed merry. Even as the booming voice interrupted all of their conversations to say, “Seems like we choose the right Bastard!”

Jon internally winced at his Wildling friend’s proclamation. Tormund came up beside Jon to slap him on the back, hard enough to cause his back to tingle in fiery pain. Jon knew Tormund didn’t think of bastards like some of the other men did, and truly meant it as a compliment. And to his surprised many men, not just wildlings, cheered to that. Men filled their cups with ale, stew, and comradery.

But seeing all the men in the room and Tormund’s cry of recognition made Jon’s mind think of one thing.

_Where is she?_

Jon asked the tall man next to him, who was in the middle of taking a swig of fermented goats milk, “Tormund have you seen Sansa?”

Tormund’s eyes began to dim as he looked at Jon. He was still smiling but it had lost its own joy somehow. Tormund was still amused by something but it was solemn amusement. It unsettled Jon to say the least.

“The lass is doin’ what she has to,” was all Tormund gave him.

Jon wasn’t sure what the big man meant and then he realized. Why would she have wanted to see him? He didn’t know how he felt her being alone in a room with him. Grabbing Tormund one more time he asked, “Did you tie him down? Is she safe?”

“The lady is safe Jon. Let her be. Drink, the lil’ fucker’s probably dead by now.”

Jon started to itch in his skin. He was a bit in his cups and wanted to celebrate with his men for real trouble would start soon but his mind could not push her out. What if Ramsay attacked her? What if he killed her and he was stalking the halls with her blood on his hands? What if she stabbed and now the blood was on her hands? These were sick questions but he can’t lie the last one enticed him deep down.

He managed to get her out of his head for hours but now as snuck back in, just thought of her gave a foreign sensation that went beyond lust. Jon felt as though he had to seek her out. He needed to see what she was doing. Needed to find her, so he left the room. He picked up his pace in the hallways and then he came out the main entrance of keep into the courtyard that was bizarrely empty. With not a soul in sight.

Then he heard it.

It sounded like an animal being slaughtered. The deafening screams of man. And then she emerged. Alone. Untouched. No blood. No knife. A smile on her lips. Jon realized he didn’t care what she had done to the man that made her life hell. The hair on his body stood up and his vision super focused on her.

In a moment she was walking out of the kennels and then the next he had Sansa in his hands with his lips devouring hers. Her heat was what his body needed all day. Jon felt the demand of his hands, lips, and skin to touch her. And when her own tongue and arms joined in, he found he never wanted to stop. It was tomorrow and he didn’t want to stop.

This went in for what felt like hours. Lasting forever yet would never be long enough. It was cold outside but he found himself heated by Sansa.

 _Sisterfucker_.

A whisper behind his ear scared him. He attempted to ignore its claim and he moved his attention down to her neck. Her neck tasted almost as sweet as her lips.

 _You depraved bastard_.

He had heard those and similar words all his life. Jon could never change what he was. So even if this was wrong, the actions of a man born from lust, then he didn’t care. He sucked at her neck until the skin had a red tinge.

_What would Catelyn say?_

Catelyn always hated him and what was the point in caring what she thought. He had spent years feeling her eyes on him, judging him as though he were not a child. As though he was the bane of her existence. So with all that Jon had endured he did not care about the petty thoughts of the late Lady of Winterfell when he was kissing the new Lady of Winterfell. When he was more than just kissing her perfect daughter. It almost made the taboo pleasurable.

_What would Robb think?_

Now this though stung far more than the last one. Robb was Jon’s brother and Sansa’s as well. Robb would defend Sansa’s honor, help Sansa. He would beat Jon for his lewd thoughts, let alone touching their sister. Jon tensed up at the thought of Robb being disappointed in him. Robb would have made Sansa feel safe not hunted. He would have helped and never have touched her.

_What would Eddard Stark do?_

Now the thought of Eddard Stark was always in Jon’s mind but this one question made him jump. He stopped touching her and broke the connection between his lips and her skin. The both panted heavily and opened their eyes to stare into the abysses. Storm grey met cerulean blue in such a haunting fashion. He could see she was angered by him stopping the kiss. Sansa seemed to be as animalistic as him.

Jon took a step back, not knowing what to do next. Sansa, no longer pinned against the wall, closed the gap between them that he began to make. She seized his face with both hands and pressed her lips to his almost as aggressively as he had done. It surprised him, truly delighted him. But he had to be better, he had to take charge of this situation.

He covered Sansa’s hands as they held onto his face. Jon didn’t back away but stopped the fervid kiss by tilting his head so that they were forehead to forehead.

“Please Jon,” was all Sansa whimpered as he tried to hold her stil. They both kept their eye closed. He could feel her agony, for it was similar to his.

“We cannot do this.” He took her hands into his and placed them at her sides. “This is wrong...we are wrong, Sansa.” He opened his eyes to see a tear come down her cheek as she stared at their feet. He wanted to kiss it away, then drag his lips down her through until he had found his way to her sweet cunt. But all he did was turn and walk away from her.

Sansa stopped him by saying, “Is that why you left so early.” Jon turned back around, confused at what she was getting at. Sansa didn’t move or even look up at him. “Get a taste of what you want, then leave, proclaiming yourself the moral one. The honorable man walking away from the depraved woman.” The worlds felt like flames licking at his skin.

“What?” was all he could think. He couldn’t believe her words. He was not trying to blame her. Yes, he was trying to be a good man. _A good brother._ So he told her that. Releasing a sigh and shaking his head, not looking at anything in particular, “Sansa I want to protect you. I am not trying to shame you.” Jon felt sick with his next words but he looked at her. “I just want to be a good brother.”

Sansa’s dagger stare met Jon’s with this comment, “A brother who knows the taste of his sister’s cunt.” Her words felt like a punch with her sharp inflection. “A brother who knows what it’s like to be inside his sister, can no longer be a good brother, Jon.”

And the dagger she held slid right into him. He knew it was coming, he made himself vulnerable. He knew Sansa wanted to spite him. She was angry about everything just like him. Jon just wasn’t used to her always being so blunt, remembering the little girl.

_The one who grew up to have you stick your cock inside._

Jon didn’t know how to respond to her, so he just turned and walked. He heard no footsteps following after him. He walked outside of the gates and out onto the open land. Jon had no idea where he was headed. To the burning bodies? To the camps? To walk all the way north to the Wall or all the way south to Dorne?

The smoke of the burning bodies smelled absolutely horrid and sometimes the wind would blow it into his eyes, making his eyes water. The averse sensations distracted Jon enough that he found himself at his men’s camp. He could hear a few people rustling in the standing tents but the place seemed abandoned for the most part. The grass had been matted by both soldiers and horses. Many of the soldiers' tents were collapsed, hardly any were still standing in the camp. He knew the women wildling were farther in the tree line so they could have run off if the battle had turned for the worst. But now, tomorrow, men, women, and children would move closer or even into the castle.

However, among the folded and half collapsed tents, stood Jon’s perfectly erect tent. Not slept in, not used last night.

Jon mindlessly walked into the tent. He found the place to have no light but the fire in the fields that offered a small warm glow to the interior of the tent. It wasn’t enough though to see where anything was. After lightning two candles, he took out his top knot that had been pulling at his scalp all day, making his head tender whichever way his hair moved. The boots came off next. One of his toes was bleeding and the heel of the other foot held the appearance of a forming blister. They were sore and tender as well but the fresh grass that covered the ground of his tent gave blissful relief.

Jon wondered if he could just have a few hours to rest peacefully, comfortably, before being bombarded with meetings and worries. He pulled off each layer of sweaty garb until he was completely disrobed. Finding a small water basin left inside canvas space, he dumped the contents atop his head. Of course it wasn’t an actual bath, but the dirt embedded in his hair slackened it’s grip on his raven locks. The rags in the kitchen were not enough to clean him of the sweat that encased his corded muscles under his clothes. The water trickled down his body, taking the weighing perspiration with it.

Jon wanted to get to work on and within the walls of Winterfell but he did not know how the next few days would go. Jon didn’t even know how he wanted them to go. He hoped that the lords and ladies would know what the right next step was.

_What does Sansa think? What does..._

He wasn’t going to play that mind game with himself tonight. Jon found his lonely trunk, one small enough to fit in a gunny sack, and pulled out a long sleeve sleep shirt that fell at his mid thighs. He blew out one of the candles as it began to rain and placed the other on the trunk next to his cot. Jon stretched one last time and crawled under the few blankets he had stockpiled during the campaign.

The rain pattering on the tent’s canvas had almost lulled Jon to sleep however he was suddenly awoken by the tent’s flap opening being disturbed. His eyes took a moment to adjust as he sat up. A womanly figure appeared in line of sight visibly shaking. Sansa.

Jon didn’t immediately get up but neither did she move closer. Feeling the chill of the outside and remembering that it was raining outside, Jon realized she wasn’t shaking. She was shivering. He leaped up with a blanket in his hands. Stretching it out to rap around her freezing body. Yet he was stopped as she planted an open palm on his chest, halting him from coming closer.

Even though it was not light enough for them to see every feature of each other’s face, Jon knew she was looking straight into his eyes, his defaced soul. “You can remain the honorable man if you want.” She swallowed hard enough for him to hear the saliva of anxiety go down her throat. “But I am still the depraved woman.”

Jon let the blanket fall at their feet. Her words caused a churning in his gut and slow burn in his loins. From what he could make out of her face she showed no signs of frailty. Sansa was exposing herself, maybe she thought she was shaming herself, but her face remained unmoved. She was going to persist with stern demeanor. Her words were clear and her meaning was not hard to deconstruct.

“Sansa, we cannot do-“ was all Jon could manage as his own face adorned more weakness than hers. She says she is the weak one but he won’t be able to resist anymore.

The hand that she placed on his chest moved to his mouth to stop his exclamation. “You can be my strong brother who saved the day and I can be your doting sister for all to see.” Sansa's words were soft in nature but she conveyed an intended eventuality. “I can play that game and never speak about this.”

 _This_. What will this be?

Jon’s thoughts were immediately answered by Sansa’s breathy statement, “But I want you to touch me.” She moved her hand from his mouth and pushed his chest so he would stumble back. “I want you to kiss all of me.” She took off her drenched fur. So heavy with rain water that it fell to the ground with an unnatural thud. “Jon...I want you to fuck me.”

He might have been pushed back but he found himself with his hands on her, right at her side again. Exploring her bodice as his lips tried to take in hers. Her hands were in his dampened locks, giving them the most sensual pull. His vision was growing darker and time was going by slower but eventually her clothes were gone. He didn’t know if he had ripped the dress in two or if he had cut through the knots on Sansa’s corset. However they did it, she was naked and Jon was more than pleased to see all of her skin. He tried to admire every part of her appearance but Sansa distracted him.

Swiping her tongue over his mouth made him pick her up in exultation. Her feet were nothing more than a few inches off the ground but Jon carried Sansa over to the cot he was laying on minutes ago. It wasn’t as lavish as Sansa’s bed which they had laid in last night, but it would keep them warm and keep them comfortable as he planned to plow into her.

Jon set her down, as she was sucking a mark on his neck. Her body was taunt against his, with one of his legs in between both of hers. Her breast practically pillows for his broad chest. Jon tried not to put all his weight on her but her kisses were making him sink into the floor.

Sansa just seemed to know what to do, how to hold the power while underneath him. However with Jon’s wandering mind, there was also his wandering hands. With calloused fingers, Jon charmed Sansa’s soft pale skin by delicately drawn circles. They probably tickled her but as Jon’s fingers drew lower her tiny giggles turned into small moans.

Jon shifted his weight and his leg so that he could reach all the way down to keep drawing those circles over her cunt. His fingers breached the warm opening, holding back its lips, as his middle finger rubbed on her pulsating nub. The tiny moans turn into gasps for air. Sansa was no longer kissing him but staring straight up, eyes wider than Jon had ever seen before.

Her back began to arch, and the one hand that was still in his hair was pulling to the point of pain. Jon liked it. Jon liked the pain. He liked how he could unravel her. He liked what she said, that he could make this perfect lady depraved. Who knows if he liked it because she ignored him as a child. Jon didn’t know if he liked it because he had undone Catelyn Stark’s faultless daughter. He was even pondering on the fact that he might actually enjoy it all because she’s his sister.

Jon, leaning all his weight off Sansa and on to his side, slipping his finger farther down and then into her heated center. He did not abandon the bundle of nerves but left it to the attention of his thumb. His finger worked like a jackrabbit inside of her pulling her faster and faster to the edge. But as he focused on her nether regions, Jon didn’t notice Sansa gearing to change the position of the entire game. He could hear her sweet whimpers and could feel her body tensing up. Nevertheless, Jon was surprised as Sansa placed her hand on his chest again and pushed him onto his back.

His hand immediately came out of her as she performed this sudden move. Jon was even more bewildered as Sansa assertively straddled him. She was struggling to breathe from the attention of Jon’s fingers. Still, her movements held grace and confidence. Jon found himself grateful that he decided to sleep in only a shirt. No small clothes. Sansa only had to push the fabric up a couple inches to unveil his more than satisfying length. Sitting up straighter, Sansa aligned herself and began to sink.

Jon had to hold back an urge to grab on to her hips and pound himself all the way inside her. She was slowly making her way down his shaft. Jon did hold on to her hips as he slowly went insane from the magnificent hold of her cunt around his cock. The only thing that could distract him was looking at Sansa. She was actually naked this time and he could take her entire body in.

How many scars can one body have?

Jon could feel some of his scars pull at times as they were littered all over his chest. Huge puffy lines marring his skin, ranging in color from rose pink to a brutish purple. Still, they didn’t compare by a long shot to the marks that danced across Sansa’s skin. White lines and dots were everywhere, he could tell she skinned and burned in some spots. Others looked like cuts and full on stab wounds. It made her look so much more beguiling. It didn’t make her more or less beautiful or interesting, just different.

Yet, before Jon could comment or touch the scars Sansa had sunk balls deep, right on to his lap, and lifted herself back up again. The tightness, the warmth that Jon was encompassed in made him groan loud enough for his face to go hot from embarrassment. He wanted to last and he wanted to have them both enjoy it, so he tried to focus on prolonging the experience. Sansa didn’t seem phased by his groaning. Actually, with every one of Jon’s groans, Sansa whimpered in unison. Her eyes were closed and her lips were wet and parted, giving each of her moans, as though it was a calculated decision to turn Jon into a hot bubbling mess.

Jon thought all that was missing from the picture was her cascading hair which was still tied up with a couple of baby hairs, still wet from the rain she had been trapped in, plastered to her forehead. She began to ride faster and faster. Taking him in completely with every thrust she coordinated by supporting herself with her hands on his chest. Jon couldn’t believe the ecstasy of it all. She made a compromising situation look so empowering. Sansa truly had power over him. Her hands started to reach out for something and Jon felt the need to sit up and place them on her shoulders.

Sansa opened her eyes then. Instantly storm grey met cerulean blue for an intense conversation. With desperation and gratification filling their eyes, they decided they needed to be closer. And faster. So Jon wrapped one arm around Sansa’s back and placed a forceful hand upon her hip bone. This position would help him lift her off of him so she could slide back down and make the most erotic squelching sound of their two bodies meeting. She wrapped one arm around his neck with one still placed on his shoulder.

The hand positions almost seemed like those done while dancing. And in a way they were dancing, rhythm was set and they were moving together with agility. This made Jon chuckle for only a second before Sansa slammed harder than ever before, causing him to inhale through gritted teeth. With the close proximity of her face and the control over his neck, she stopped Jon's gritted teeth by kissing him roughly. Sansa was playing a game with him and the game was to keep all the attention on Sansa. The kiss was aggressive and so did the fucking. With the mood going from fast to brutal.

They both loved it but Jon was the first to make his release, sending ropes upon ropes of his seed into her.

Four...five...six bursts seed.

To Jon’s defense, Sansa followed suit, reaching her peak due to the warm liquid bursting inside her. Her cunt started clenching even more aggressively around his member, practically screaming. She had bit into his perfect shoulder leaving a display of her perfect teeth a couple of inches away from his red sucked-on skin. But Jon left her with some marks as well because of how tight he held her, leaving possible bruises on her hip.

Jon laid back down taking Sansa with him. They laid together in silence. Both of them were out of breath with sweat beads forming along their hairlines. Neither of them broke the silence though, even as Sansa rolled off him. As he came out of her, Jon felt somehow incomplete. He felt as though he had lost this weight that he needed in order to thrive. And as they had split their bodily connection, the silence became unwieldy.

Sansa rose to her feet. Jon moved to watch what she was doing, willing her not to leave. Her creamy long legs swayed her hips back and forth. Jon was even more entranced by her. He also couldn’t help but look at the glistening of his own undoing on her thighs. His seed had filled her and now was leaking down her limbs. Thinking about it made him feel all hot again. Jon preceded to run his fingers through his hair to keep it off his warm face. He refocused to watch Sansa walk past her clothes, close to the opening of the tent.

Does she plan to go out into the rain like that?

Sansa didn’t leave the tent though. When she came to the tents entrance she kneeled down and picked up the blanket Jon had originally brought her for warmth. She turned back to Jon without a smile but a rather serious expression. Sansa came back and laid next to him as she covered them both with the massive wool blanket that Jon had taken from his room at Castle Black.

She laid her head of copper hair on his broad chest and he want nothing more to undo it from its style and run his hands through it.

_Is that what you do with a sister or someone you fuck? Does she want more than tonight? Does she want to be more than what they were tonight?_

His mind was roaming miles ahead. He almost missed Sansa saying, “You can lecture me later if you want, but not now.” She hadn’t even bother to look up at him. “You can be my brother during the day, but right now…”

“Right now I want to sleep,” was the most profound answer Jon could give. It wasn’t a lie. He told himself he wasn’t going to try to play mind games with himself after today’s events. His mind had gone back and forth literally all day as he was physically worked to the bone. Plus after a battle and round of fucking, who would expect anymore of an eloquent answer.

Tomorrow, he would actually put his foot down on this thing that he and Sansa had been participants in. Tomorrow, Jon would try to find a peace to the madness of the ruins of Winterfell, the impending Night King’s army, the North’s enemies and traitors, and that fact he had now fucked his father’s daughter twice.

But in that tent, Jon would sleep. His eyes grew heavier and heavier, letting all that worried him go. The weight of Sansa’s head was a welcoming feeling that helped Jon fall asleep. Her breath was a lullaby as he fell into surprisingly dreamless slumber. Something he hadn’t experienced since his death.

His dreams were of red hair and the gnarled hands of death usually, yet all he saw as he slept was pitch black. Black until his eyes popped open to see that he was alone in a tent that was lightened by the sun outside.

Sansa was gone with all her clothes, leaving nothing but her scent on the blanket that he was now wrapped in. She had left and hadn’t even noticed.

Returning the favor, I guess.

He dressed for the day and hustled across the field back to keep of Winterfell. The sun was out but the ground was still muddy and the air frigid. He was wearing the fur Sansa had made him. It felt almost like a second skin during a cold spell.

Most of the corpses had been burned up during the great fires last night. Still some remains and charred men laid scattered because of the abrupt rain that came. Jon was torn at the desecration of bodies but knew that everything that was dead had to burn.

But beyond the fields, on one side of Winterfell, hundreds of tents lined the walls. Hundreds of tents lined up in orderly fashion, with the symbol of a flying falcon sewn on. Tents lined the other side of Winterfell, but none had symbols on them probably because they sheltered those such as Tormund and little Lyanna. Jon pleaded in his head that this separation would not be litmus to the future relationship people needed to have.

Jon came through the gate though, to see nothing but harmony as men started moving things into place. Fallen stone was being fallen out of the walls while others did things such as move produce around. Davos seemed to be the one watching and coordinating the help as he told men exactly where to go as though he had grown up in Winterfell himself.

But if one looked close enough it was all being managed by a young lady who stood unshaken. She was half talking to a boy her junior, probably a stable boy, while she watched the men and occasionally called out to Davos. She was concentrating and working proactively. He had no right to lecture her. She most definitely had a plan for Winterfell even more complex than the one to get it back. That lifted something off his shoulders.

Of course she had a plan, we stand here because of her.

But as Jon came to recognize that fact, two men came up from behind her. One in a full on battle metallic armor suit and the other in nothing but black, with a cap pinned with a bird like emblem. Yohn Royce had to be one in the armor, he was one of the leaders of the Knights. So the other one had to be Baelish. Just the thought of a man like Littlefinger disgusted him.

Jon had only ever heard Sansa’s condensed version of events but she had mentioned several times the role that Baelish played. He couldn’t even believe how she could stand to hear him speak.

Davos spotted him and walked over. The old man immediately began to talk about the work they were doing and the early morning progress that they had made.

“I talked to the Maester as he worked, and he said he will help with the ravens tomorrow. He has worked through the night to save a couple dozen men with the help of some of the maids…” Davos looked at Jon directly and could see a man frustrated looking straight at his sister and her two campanions. “And Sansa.” Jon turned at her name.

He looked straight at his friend and asked him, “What?” His brooding face fighting for a clear answer.

“Sansa, the poor girl, was probably working before sun up. She helped the Maester with some of his final surgeries.” For Davos’ next comment, it seemed as though Davos could not look Jon in the eye, “She knows the Maester quite well and proved to have quite a knack for sewing the wounds up.” Jon took a deep breath with that. He closed his eyes yo calm himself. Jon opened his eyes back on Sansa. It was the silent statement from Davos that made Jon want to flip a table.

_She had plenty of chances to practice stitches on herself._

Davos immediately cleared his throat and continued, “Then as more and more men awoke she enlisted them for jobs, including myself.” They both continued to stand around and look in Sansa’s direction.

“And how long have those two been following her around?” Jon pointed to the two old men following the young women around almost like they were lost puppies.

Davos laughed and turned to Jon. The old man looked tired as he wore his smile. Jon hoped he had slept more than people like Sansa did. Davos answered him with, “A few hours now. I think they are scared of everyone else though. She mostly ignores them from what I have seen.”

Jon gave a small smirk that immediately fell away. He decided not to dwell on the blood boiling man. “Has she talked to the maids or the kitchen staff yet, we need more help than overworked soldiers for this place.” Jon motioned to all around them.

“I’m not certain.” The old man stroked his beard and thought for a small moment. “I don’t think so. The kitchen made breakfast but just like supper, with no one telling them to do so. Nothing is being done inside the keep yet besides sleeping and eating.”

Jon put a hand on his friend’s shoulder and gave a curt nod to express his thanks. He went around all of the courtyard dealings, trying not to focus on the vultures surrounding Sansa, and walked straight into the main keep and almost immediately found who he was looking for in the small hall.

Feona was picking up empty and used plates, working to clean up as many of the men were busy now. Hot plates of scrambled eggs and small sausages sat along the table that the men pushed back yesterday. She was a pretty woman but the thing that impressed Jon was her coordination to hold over a dozen plates and utensils without dropping a thing.

He tried to come into the room and not scare her. “Hello Feona.”

She was a bit startled and gave a small curtsy out of confusion it seemed, “M’lord, I will be out of your way soon.”

“No, Feona, I have a favor to ask of you.” Jon then thought about it and revised his statement by saying, “Well maybe two. Let’s walk.”

Jon grabbed a few plates and nodded to the hallway. She seemed to relax around him, just like she did yesterday. Her shoulders loosened and they walked to the kitchen. Feona answered his inquisition with, “Whatever I can do, M’lord.”

“I would like you to stop the ‘M’lord’ business, please. Just Jon.” This statement made the girl’s cheeks redden as she turned to look away. They kept walking though and when it seemed that the girl’s embarrassment had subsided, Jon said, “The second favor is to round up all of those who work at Winterfell, unless they working on something, and any of those in Wintertown who need work for the next couple days to come meet with me. I need maids.”

They both had reached the kitchen and given the plates to the small girls who were washing dishes. He got Feona to agree to helping Jon, so that Winterfell could be run properly again. She found him almost two dozen women ready to work on cleaning out rooms. They were to stockpile clothing to be redistributed, replace beddings, and log what was found in each of the rooms. The Lord’s chamber was to be prepared for occupants first.

That is how Jon found himself on the ramparts of Winterfell. He had split the women up to clear out different sections of the castle. Winterfell needed to be sorted out before Sansa and he could help the North once again prosper.

He looked out to the rampaged field and he felt suffocated. The future was unpredictable and hard to swallow. And when Sansa walked through the doorway and onto the ramparts Jon turned to look her way and felt even more suffocated. Jon kept a face of composure. He wanted to kiss her. He wanted to ask her why she left so early. Jon wanted to lecture her about the wrong that had been committed last night and the night before then present her with the Lord’s chamber as if it were a token.

Yet Jon couldn’t find the words to do that. He was looking out to the battleground that he lost on and that she won. She wanted this, all of this because she was hurt. How could he scold or judge her? He needed her to trust him. He needed her trust more than her pain or self loathing because if she could win Winterfell against the odds, they together could beat death when it comes knocking.

“I’m having the Lord’s Chamber prepared for you,” were the only words that came out of Jon’s mouth. He made an agreement within himself to not talk about the events that had been happening at night, unless she did. They were to be brother and sister, in the daytime, for all to see.

And almost like she made the same self promise, Sansa asked, “Mother and Father’s room?” They were brother and sister, or at least the kind of siblings that don’t know what it’s like to fuck the other. “You should take it.”

Jon immediately knew how to answer that though. He was her brother, but not enough in the Lord’s eyes to take that chamber or take such a position. “I’m not a Stark.”

Sansa made quick work for a response, “You are to me.” Jon would have rejoiced to hear those words as a child and he loved them even now. Still, they felt different in his heart.

“You're the Lady of Winterfell,” Jon flat out told her. He explained why she deserved it. He truly believed every word he said. The battle had been lost until she tipped the balance. She stared at him with an almost pained face as though she kept wanting to interject. However as he finished, Sansa put her head down as though she was ashamed, and maybe she was. Jon knew his inflection was a bit brash but he wanted her to know how she should’ve trusted him.

Now Jon was going to look for answers, “You told me Lord Baelish sold you to the Bolton’s.”

Sansa curt response was, “He did.”

“And you trust him?” Jon turned to hear what she had to say to justify the man being in the castle, standing by her side.

Sansa looked out onto the fields not looking at him this time, saying, “Only a fool would trust Littlefinger.” It almost seemed as though it was some great joke she had with someone. But then her face did grow serious and she turned to him and she apologized. Just apologized for not telling him even though pledged to fight and help her take Winterfell back. Sansa apologized and something came off of Jon. It was like a weight he had been carrying since the battle and his attraction to her was the only thing that subsided the pain. He felt like a soldier that was only given milk of the poppy rather than receiving a splint. But she wanted to apologize for not trusting him. And Jon knew a weight had been lifted when he looked out at the field again because he no longer felt suffocated. He was no longer under the boots of men when he looked down on the battlefield before him.

Sansa didn’t want to ignore her distrust, she wanted to apologize for it. And Jon wanted to trust her from now so he stepped closer to her, a distance that had been dangerous for them, and said, “We need to trust each other.” He wanted this to be clear. He would not do things without asking for her opinion like he did with the battle. She would not go behind his back and do what she wanted, she’d tell him the things he needed to know. “We can’t fight a war amongst ourselves. We have so many enemies now.” Jon wanted a united front with her in every physical or political battle. Cersei, Ironborn, stubborn Northern lords, the Dead, and ruling the North were daunting tasks but they would help each other.

Jon wanted to kiss her then. He thought of how gorgeous she looked and remembered her beautiful body in the candlelight. Her hair amongst the grey walls and white snow made her seem like a beacon for hope, for the future. He placed his hands to cup her face and stared at her lips with dazed eyes. She stared right at him and she looked back with a similar face of insecurity. Sansa wanted him to kiss her and Jon wanted to kiss Sansa fiercely and passionately, but he had to stop himself. The moment was pure and she deserved to be respected. Right now they were brother and sister, about to rule the North.

He planted a kiss on her forehead. Jon breathed in Sansa’s scent, the same one she had left in his tent, and pulled his lips away. He cupped her face as he stared at her a few seconds more. This was going to be a victory moment for them. It was a moment that needed to be separate from the lust they felt for each other. Jon then decided to turn and leave with nothing in particular to do. Maybe he would find Tormund or Feona. Maybe he would work on letters to send letters to the Northern lords about coming to Winterfell. Maybe he would find his old room. Maybe he had no clue what to do.

However, before Jon could return to inside the keep, Sansa stopped him by calling out his name. And when he turned around she said something he never would have expected, “A raven came from the citadel, a white raven.” Jon automatically knew what that meant. “Winter is here.” But not until he heard those words did he smile. In fact, he gave a small chuckle as Sansa gave him a small grin. He looked up towards the sky, where flurries of snow sprinkled down. He stared and thought of the three words that a wise man had taught him. The three words he found himself using. Stark words always seemed like it was a promise for future weather rather than a testament to strength. But Jon was wrong. He took his eyes off the sky and looked to the one person in the world who listened to the same words he did as a child. The one person he knew was still alive to share that connection with.

“Well father always promised, didn’t he?” This caused Sansa’s smile to widen. It almost felt like a sign. Winter had been coming for a long time now. Many of the Starks had fallen and made so many enemies. But now Winter was here, and the wolves were in Winterfell yet again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this wasn’t too wordy or boring. I please give it a kudos if you liked it. And comments are much appreciated. Tell me what you think, what you didn’t like, what you wanna see. I sort of have a broad plan for the story but it’s subject to change 😉


	4. Chapter 4

Hey Y’all....I have not posted on this story in awhile. But I do hope to be back soon. I am a high school senior and am trying to finish applications but I have been trying to clean up these chapters. I know my grammar is crap. I am trying to work stuff out and add a few more things. But as always give me the suggestions you all wanna see again from season 6-8. I still know where I wanna go with my story, but I would love to know what you guys want. Again I’m so sorry for not updating in awhile. As you can tell from 25k words in only three chapters that I am passionate about the story but I will probably need to write shorter chapters for sanity reasons but I want to get back to story writing.

I’ll try to delete this chapter soon, when I update the story in about week or two.

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave comments and kudos to let me know what you think!


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